The Cosima Sutra
by MlleClaudine
Summary: A freeform series of smutty Cophine one-shots. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
1. You Plays, You Pays

_Trying something a little different here. While researching and laying the groundwork for my upcoming season 3 stories, I realized I was getting **really** bummed out. So consider this a kind of emotional playground for me to decompress in. These ficlets won't necessarily dovetail with my main Cophine series, though there may be a few callbacks to details and situations mentioned in various stories there; I'm also deliberately not adhering to canon or my own timeline. Most of these will probably be self-contained, but I'm not ruling out multi-parters. As with all my M-rated stuff, consider the whole shebang NSFW. Also, I don't really hold with trigger warnings, so proceed at your own peril. All feedback is greatly appreciated!_

* * *

 **You Plays, You Pays**

Oh, man, do I love that belt.

She picked it up as a student in Paris, in a vintage shop she'd stopped into to get out of the rain. Because of course she did. Whenever _I_ go to a vintage shop, I usually spend hours grubbing through racks of sweaters and skirts and combat boots and more times than not I won't come up with anything worthwhile. Delphine Freakin' Cormier waltzes into a vintage shop on a whim and it's like she's starring in her own personal goddamn Disney movie — unique accessories and clothes that fit like they were custom made practically leap off of hangers and shelves to drape themselves over her. Not that I blame them.

The belt was made in the '70s, I think. Some time when clothing designers and manufacturers still gave a shit about the quality of their materials, anyway. It's almost as wide as my hand, in a dark brown color that's faded and subtly indented where the big circular buckle has fastened over it for years. The edges curl up just a little from being pulled through loops that are slightly too narrow for it. It's thick and heavy, with that incredibly supple, velvety texture of perfectly broken-in leather. I might be a committed vegetarian, but even I can't help finding its scent swoon-worthy. Especially when it's still warm from the heat of her body.

The first time I'd asked her to strap me with it, she'd nearly dropped it on the floor.

I can still see the look on her face when I'd slid my hands down her waist to undo the buckle and tug it free, testing its doubled length on my palm and deciding that I really, really liked the weight of it against my skin. The sound had echoed in the bedroom, somewhere between a slap and a thud, leaving behind a nice dark red flush that set my nerve endings tingling just short of a sting. Out fucking standing.

Her already wide eyes had gone even wider with surprise and confusion when I'd held it out to her. A long shuddering breath spilled from her lungs and her hand was shaking, catching the belt in trembling fingers at the last second.

I'd given her my wickedest smile and trapped her hand in both of mine, kissing the back of it and tasting the traces of perfume and salt of her skin mingled with the rich scent of leather. "What's the matter, Dr. Cormier," I'd teased, swirling the tip of my tongue between her fingers. "You're always saying that I'm a brat. Don't tell me you're gonna pass up the chance to give me a spanking."

Letting go of her hand, I'd wrapped my arms around her neck to kiss her. God, I love the way she kisses me. Every time, hard and passionate or soft and sweet, it's like nothing else matters or exists, as if everything else had disappeared and we're alone in our own world. Synched in perfect rhythm, moving together without thinking and just melting into the connection and emotion and feeling of the moment.

"I don't want to hurt you," she had mumbled against my lips, sliding her other hand down to cup my ass, stroking and kneading my buttocks in that way she knows drives me crazy.

I'd had to laugh, just a little. "The good kind of pain is different from being hurt, babe. Think of all the times I've clawed blood from your back and shoulders, or bitten your neck so hard the bruises didn't fade for like weeks. You didn't notice it at the time, or if you did it only heightened your arousal, right?"

She'd nodded, clearly still not entirely convinced, those huge doe eyes never once leaving mine.

I'd kissed her again, softly. "I want to give myself to you this way, precisely because you _don't_ want to hurt me. With you it's not about power games or control, 'cause those kinda suck all the fun out of exploring the limits of intensity and sensation. Because I can trust you to recognize the way my body responds and not turn it against me.

"Just a few ground rules, 'kay? You can strap me as hard as you want anywhere on my butt, but go easy on my thighs and calves and behind my knees. Only use the leather part, not the buckle, unless you want to have to stitch me up before I walk out on you for good. And never, _ever_ hit me across my back — way too sensitive there, especially where all the little bones of my spine stick out.

"Now, Dr. Cormier," I'd said, rubbing up against her like a cat in heat, "will you do me the inestimable favor of whaling the hell out of my ass?"

Before she'd even had a chance to object, I'd turned and bent over the bed, which is nice and firm and also conveniently exactly the right height to grind my clit against the edge of the mattress. Not to mention exactly the right height for her to plow me senseless. I remember feeling my entire body vibrating with anticipation, my arms stretched out above my head with my hands fisting into the sheets.

I'd heard her take a step back. Another deep breath. The subtle creak of leather, the faint metallic jingle of the buckle. A low whoosh cutting through the air...

"Jesus _fuck_!"

A line of fire streaks across my right buttcheek, followed immediately by a matching streak in the same place on the left one. The thudding blows land with precise placement as she works her way steadily up and down the curve of my ass. Shamelessly I hump against the bed, feeling my cunt dripping and soaking into the sheets. I know she is admiring the symmetry of the scarlet marks striping me.

Because by now not only is Delphine comfortable with using her belt on me, she's a goddamned artist with it. Which shouldn't surprise me; she's been a fast learner from the beginning of this slightly messy thing that is our relationship. She now owns a tidy collection of crops, whips and paddles for our mutual enjoyment, but for me, nothing gets my motor revving faster or harder than that belt.

The heavy loop of sweat- and come-soaked leather catches me on an upswing right in the sweet spot where my inner thigh meets my buttock, then again on the other side, making me squirm and gasp. My legs nearly collapse when she slides the rougher inside of the belt over my straining, swollen clit. She deliberately rasps it back and forth against me like a tongue, keeping the outraged nerves of my ass awakened with unpredictable slaps of her free hand. It doesn't take long for the muscles of my belly, cunt and thighs to start quivering and tightening. I'm so close...

"Shit, babe, I need you to _fuck_ me!"

Even before the words are completely out of my mouth, she is inside me, driving her thick cock into my hungrily pouring cunt. Every stroke slams her hips against raw searing flesh, making me cry out. Some primitive part of my brain is tripping on the combination of pleasure inextricably bound with the pain that jags redly through me, hazing my vision and goading the tears that run as freely down my face as the flood of come down my legs. She snakes a hand around to trap my clit, fucking it ruthlessly between her fingers in time with the brutal thrusts of her cock. Howling, writhing and bucking and fighting for breath, I shatter to pieces, drenching her with come.

She slides her hand out from between my legs. Blunt nails bite into the hollows of my hips as she uses her grip on them to rock herself into me in tight grinding circles. Instantly I recognize what she's doing. "Fuck yeah, babe, come inside me," I manage to say, clutching at her with the aftershocks of my still-convulsing cunt.

Growling, her breath hot against the back of my neck, she pounds into me with increasingly vicious devouring thrusts that finally push her over the edge, spending her release, grinding and shuddering and gasping, slowly ebbing and spiraling down until at last she is heavily still.

Instinctively she holds me close, knowing to ignore my whimpers as her thighs press against the flayed, heated skin of my buttocks. Her cock is buried deep in my spasming, churning cunt. She slips her hand beneath me again, her fingers playing softly at my too-sensitive clit, feathering caresses around it and keeping my arousal simmering to delay the inevitable.

Because we both know that when I come down it's going to hurt like a bastard.

She pulls out with a slurping gush of wetness and eases me to a stand so that I am leaning securely back against her. Her free hand caresses the flat of my belly, making the deep muscles roil pleasantly under her touch. My head falls back against her shoulder; a leisurely arch of her neck lets her mouth find mine.

"Ça baigne?" she whispers in my ear, nibbling and tugging at the lobe with her teeth. _  
_

"Oh, hell yeah." I listen to the slowing of my pulse, the easing of my breath, the delicious tremors of my body still shivering in her embrace.

Soft lips nuzzle my neck. "Lie down, chérie. I'll get the arnica."

I can feel her wince in sympathy every time a random pain-tinged hiss escapes me as she gently applies the cool soothing cream to my buttocks and thighs. "Relax, Dr. Cormier," I say, my voice muffled by the pillow cradled in my arms. "You know I'll be completely fine in like a couple of days."

"Yes, but I don't like having been the cause of your discomfort. And yes, I am perfectly aware of the irony," she says dryly as I start giggling helplessly.

"Totally worth it, babe."


	2. Up Against the Wall

**Up Against the Wall**

I look around as we enter the cavernous space. It is certainly striking, with dramatic lighting, sleek modern furnishings and what might be described as Asian-ish decor. The crowd consists mostly of young professional types, well-dressed, clearly moneyed. It is, I decide, the epitome of the kind of place one goes to see and be seen.

In fact, this would have fit right in with just about every restaurant to which Aldous ever brought me. To show me off like a prized possession. I suppress a shudder of revulsion.

"Kinda looks like the Asian fusion trend threw up in here," Cosima says sardonically, nodding toward a wall at three different representations of Buddha that appear to be of Thai, Chinese and Indian origin.

"All over the menu, too," I murmur into her ear. "I've heard the food is hit or miss, and mostly not worth the trouble. It's a good thing we're not here to eat."

I rest my hand at the small of her back and guide her over to the large bar that surrounds a vast fountain in the center of the room, enjoying the glide and play of muscle beneath the form-fitting velvety fabric of her dark green leopard print dress no less than the admiring and envious stares she stirs in her wake.

Nimbly she hops up onto a low-backed padded barstool, hooking the heel of one of her ankle boots on a rung for balance; I make sure she is comfortably settled before scooting the next stool closer to hers and sitting down. The golden glow from the lighted side panels that run the length of the bar warms her complexion and picks out gleaming highlights in her dreads, which are neatly caught up into an elegantly simple bun. I can't help smiling at her.

"What?" She leans toward me, having to raise her voice above the crowd noise and the much too loud Top 40 music.

"You're beautiful."

She ducks her head and gives me _that_ smile, looking up at me through her long lashes. "Bet you say that to all the girls who let you rim them in the shower for, like, days until they come like a freight train."

Shivering at the sense-memory, barely hours old and still incredibly vivid, I cup her cheek in my hand and slowly caress its warm satin with my thumb. "There is only one girl I know who matches that description, chérie."

Leaning closer, she drops her voice to a husky purr. "I can still feel your tongue in my ass. I am so fucking wet for you right now."

I bend forward to kiss her deeply, hungrily, immensely pleased that she responds in kind. Not in any hurry to abandon her lips, it is quite some time before I am aware that we have an audience.

The bartender is handsome in a dark, flashy way; his tailored black shirt nicely showcases his broad shoulders and tapered waist. "Please, don't let me interrupt."

"Sorry." I am perfectly aware that the perfunctory apology sounds completely unapologetic, and that my equally perfunctory smile does not quite reach my eyes.

White teeth glint appreciatively between his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. "You shouldn't be. I was about to say that if you two were planning to hang out for a while, drinks are on me. This place becomes a nightclub after the restaurant closes."

"We have plans," I say, laying a placating hand on Cosima's knee before she can sling a barbed insult his way. "But thank you. Some other night, maybe."

He shrugs self deprecatingly. "Our loss. What can I get you ladies?"

Cosima gestures for me to order first. "Lychee martini," I say, naming the first thing that catches my eye on the cocktail menu.

"Awamori, in a glass, not a chibuguwa. Ice and a carafe of spring water on the side." The bartender raises an eyebrow and inclines his head toward her before moving over to his main station to prepare our drinks.

"You seem to have impressed him," I tease, stroking the incredibly soft skin inside her knee through the wide mesh of her tights. "Awamori?"

"Distilled rice spirit indigenous to Okinawa. Spent a summer in the Ryukyu Islands when I was in college — tagged along on one of my mom's research trips, ostensibly to be her assistant."

I smile. "I thought you were going to say that you once dated a sake sommelier or something like that."

Her grin widens. "Well, there was this girl I met while I was snorkeling around the Yonaguni Monument."

"Of course there was." I roll my eyes in mock exasperation.

"Hey." She moves her hand to rest on my arm, caressing me gently. "You don't mind my talking about my exes and fuck-buddies, do you?"

Tilting my head, I frown a little. "Why should I mind?"

One slim shoulder shrugs. "I dunno, some people — women especially — get kind of freaked out when they find out how many sex partners I've been with."

"Then they're fools. There is nothing wrong with enjoying yourself with someone you find attractive, as long as you stay safe and there are no obligations on either side." I refrain from mentioning that she and all the other Leda clones are routinely screened for STDs each time labwork is run. "Besides," I kiss her softly, "I seem to be reaping a great many benefits from your wealth of experience."

"Smooth, Dr. Cormier, very smooth," she says into our kiss. "And just so you know, that goes both ways. I have _never_ in my life come as hard as you made me come today. I'm still, like, twitching."

I smile, nibbling at the fullness of her lower lip. _Perfect._

The arrival of our drinks temporarily breaks us apart. My martini is quite tasty, with the lychees adding their sweetness to balance out the woody, spicy and citrusy flavors of the gin.

Cosima swirls her glass and sniffs deeply before taking a sip. "Nice. Bar dude might be kinda smarmy but he hooked me up with the good stuff. Here, try this."

Curious, I examine the clear liquid in its highball. Copying her example, I give it a swirl. The scent is unexpected — herbal, mainly, but also with hints of melon, anise and even mushroom. Cautiously I take a small sip, letting the rich, almost oily liquor play over my tongue. Initially the herbal impression predominates, but it dissipates quickly into a complex melange of sweet and almost savory flavors, finishing with a warm, unctuous sensation all around my mouth.

Carefully she adds a splash of water. "Now try it again."

The water seems to bring out more of the sweetness, with the other flavors harmonizing in the background. With a small pair of tongs, she drops a single large cube of ice into the glass. The taste is no less complex but now it is refreshing rather than full-bodied and makes my martini seem suddenly bland and one-note. "That's remarkable."

She smiles as I start to hand back her now half-empty glass. "Keep it," she says, waving to the bartender to bring her another.

"See?" I say, capturing her mouth again. "Benefits."

We finish our first round quickly, then take our time with the second, chatting effortlessly about anything and nothing and randomly kissing all the while. Pleasantly lightheaded from the alcohol, I can feel my pulse pounding; my entire body is acutely aware of the warmth and presence of this incredibly alluring woman. "Would you like to know why I brought you here, chérie?"

Her mouth quirks. "You mean other than to take advantage of a primo opportunity to make out in front of a bunch of pretty people?"

"Aside from that." Signalling to the bartender for the check, I leave him a tip that earns another raise of his eyebrow. "Come with me."

Taking her by the hand, I lead her to a dimly lit corridor, nodding to the attendant who opens one of a series of sliding doors that are reminiscent of shoji screens. Inside, I flick the switch that turns on the magnetic lock. "What do you think?"

"Dude." Cosima looks around the cubicle, a rather spare but tranquil and spa-like space with stacked-stone walls. The only illumination comes from the large, nearly floor-to-ceiling window that looks out onto a small, thoughtfully curated zen garden decorated with fountains and statuary. "Never thought I'd say this about a bathroom, much less a _restaurant_ bathroom, but this is spectacular."

I wrap my arms around her from behind. "The window is actually a one-way mirror. Which means we can see out, but no one can see in. Not even those people walking around in the garden." Letting my hands smooth their way down the lean lines of her body, snugging her buttocks against my hips until I hear the rough catch in her lungs, I hold her closely to me, kissing her below one ear while we watch a young couple stroll by.

"Mmm, Dr. Cormier." She reaches back to wind the fingers of one hand into my hair and graze her nails lightly over my scalp, making me shiver. "So what did you have in mind?"

"This." Carefully removing her glasses and setting them on the floating shelf that supports a multicolored vessel sink, I shuffle us forward until her upper body is pressed up against the huge pane of glass. I tug at the hem of her dress and slip, rucking them up well above her hips and revealing that rather than tights, she is actually wearing stockings and a garter belt. And nothing else. "Oh, chérie. How very prescient of you. And how very convenient for me."

Running one hand down the flat plain of her stomach, I tease at the soaked curls covering her sex. Instantly her hips start to undulate, grinding the firm rounds of her buttocks against me. With the tips of my fingers I rub gently at the swell and pout of her clit and the already — or perhaps it would be more accurate to say _still_ — turgid inner lips beckoning me toward her weeping cunt.

With my other hand, I reach into my pocket and pull out a small bottle of lube, messily anointing my fingers and leaving the bottle on the shelf. Slowly I circle the tip of my middle finger around the pucker of her ass. "Fuck!" Raising her arms to support herself, she lets her belly drop as she tilts up her pelvis, whimpering softly in response to my every touch.

"That's the idea," I whisper into her ear as I press the pad of my finger against her asshole. Still warm and pliant from my earlier attentions, it opens readily to welcome me in, clenching around my knuckle. Sliding deeper, plunging back and forth, I pause briefly in my tease of her clit and cunt to pour more lube over my hand; it is not long before I can introduce a second and then a third finger inside her spasming ass.

Her hips in constant motion as she writhes and keens with increasing frenzy, I can feel her first convulsions gripping me bloodless. With my other hand I trap her pulsing clit between my fingers, working the slippery little bundle in time with my thrusts and prolonging the staggeringly intense waves of her release until she is sobbing for breath and leaning heavily against the glass, shivering endlessly.

Stilling my hands, delighting in the random shudders quaking through her and the exhilarating scent of sex and sweat, I nuzzle the silky skin at the nape of her neck.

"Holy fucking shit," she says, her breath fogging the glass with every panting gasp.

Carefully I free my fingers. Making sure she is well braced against the window, I let her go only long enough to wash my hands and then retrieve the object I'd stashed in my purse before we'd left my flat this evening. Encouraging her to lean back against me, I show it to her.

Made of sleek stainless steel, the plug is nearly the length of my hand; though relatively slender, it is heavy enough to make its presence emphatically known when I slip it easily inside her, the base winking at me between her cheeks as her ring closes around the narrow neck.

I greedily absorb her long drawn-out moan. "I take it that you approve of our new friend, chérie?"

Cosima turns in my arms to kiss me roughly, clinging to me, her entire body still trembling. "Oh, yeah. But if you don't get me home soon, I'm gonna make you take me on top of that bar."

Pressing my lips to her forehead, I smile. "We'd probably get free drinks for life from that bartender. When we finally get out of jail after being arrested for public indecency."

"Hmm." She nips the tip of my nose. "Then you'd better take me home and fuck me, Dr. Cormier. To keep me off the streets and all."

"As you wish."


	3. Dancing with Myself

**Dancing with Myself**

Fuck, I'm ripped.

Mad props to Kevin — his latest crop of Super Lemon Haze is the _shit_. Huge perfectly cured buds loaded with kief. Onset was a little slow but now I'm like all giggly and euphoric. Definite head high, a mild psychedelic effect and enough indica to get me relaxed without making me sleepy or couchlocked. Tastes like Lemonheads candy, too, tart and lemony and sweet. Awesome.

I move some books out of the way and shove my water pipe to the other side of the desk so I won't knock it over. The Humboldt wick is still burning in its dispenser. Pretty dancing little flame. I think it's the souce of the ethereally disembodied high-pitched voice I've been hearing for a while, like Minnie Mouse singing Enya. In a weird way it actually sort of goes with the Bassos Rancheros concert bootleg I've got playing on the stereo right now.

Shit, I'm getting horny. Check that; I've been turned on ever since I met that girl this afternoon. Delphine Beraud. Wicked smart, smokin' hot and really fucking friendly Delphine Beraud. Dayum.

I scooch down in my chair and loosen the tie on my yoga pants. This chair isn't really all that comfortable, but I don't feel like getting up and moving to the bed. Really should look into getting a sofa or a daybed. No, wait, even better, a fainting couch. Which would be more suitable with the Victorian architecture, especially considering its historical intended use.

Sliding my hand under the waistband, I dip into my cunt, then sandwich my clit between my slick and wet fingers. Index and ring fingers on either side, rubbing and squeezing. Middle finger grooving in quick side to side strokes across the shaft. My hand moving in slow tight circles. Oh, yeah.

It was her voice I noticed first.

Well, duh, 'cause like a dork I had my glasses on top of my head and without them anything farther than like six inches from my face is a blur.

And the fact that she was speaking French, which instantly stood out. Even though she was obviously upset, her voice was still soft, with an almost musical lilt. Nice change from having to listen to mostly Midwestern accents for the past few months, which is really harsh on the ear. Not to mention it makes me feel like I'm stuck on the set of "Fargo."

AP French Lit was a looooong time ago, and despite poor M. Oscar's best efforts I was never great at actually _speaking_ it. Maybe there's something to the theory that smoking weed as a teenager affects some areas of the developing brain, though I call bullshit on the studies that claim it's deleterious to memory and problem solving and can damage cognition and academic performance. High school valedictorian with a 4.9 GPA, bayyybeee, so suck on _that_ , pseudoscience. But anyway, I remembered enough to be able to figure out that whoever she was talking to, she didn't want anything to do with them.

Good thing she was distracted by her phone call or she would have caught me staring. I don't know many women who manage to look that hot in a lab coat. Simple white scoopneck top with a shirred neckline deep enough to show the lacy edge of a black bra. I couldn't help imagining what her skin would feel and taste and smell like if I traced the fine gold chain of her necklace with my lips to where it disappeared down her cleavage. It wasn't until I followed her out to the hallway that I could see she was wearing a skirt that was even shorter than mine. Soft slouchy leather boots that hugged her calves to just below the knees. And when I leaned in close enough to be able to feel the heat radiating from her, I caught a trace of her perfume, something floral and woodsy and even a little spicy. Not something I'm familiar with and probably like leagues above my pay grade, but the way it interacted with her body chemistry was some NEWT-level Potions wizardry.

And holy mother of fuck, that hair. Loose wavy curls, a little messy... and every time she ran her hand through it, which she she seems to do a lot, I instantly wanted to do the same, to mess it up even more. I could mess it up real good with her head between my legs... guiding her mouth right where I want it... unff... God, my clit is rock hard. If I were a dude, my cock would be slapping up against my belly.

I run my other hand up under my sweater to my breasts, leaving a trail of prickling skin in its wake. Fuck, I'm so sensitive when I'm high. Pretty damned sensitive even when I'm not high, too. I pinch my nipples, imagining the heat of her mouth on them, sucking and licking, biting them just hard enough to hurt in a really good way. Her hands cupping my breasts, kneading and teasing...

She has beautiful hands. Long fingers. Short nails, but that doesn't mean anything these days. Not as soft as I would have expected from the way she looks. Capable, they seem like very capable hands. Capable of sliding right into my cunt and curling toward my G-spot and teasing around my cervix and —

Straight girl, Niehaus. You know how that goes. Not that I haven't had more than my share of them. Shit, if they're curious and up for exploration, I'm all for it. Especially if they've never really been properly laid in their lives, which is most of the straight women I've been with. Seriously, dudes, I've fucked a pretty good number of you in my time, enough to make a decent representative population sample size. Maybe one in ten of you has any real idea about what to do with a woman in bed. Especially how to go down on them. Men should all have to take, like, a seminar on how to eat pussy, with a mandatory lab practical. I'd be happy to demonstrate. With Delphine. Mmmmm...

Oh, yeah, getting sloppy wet like a mofo. Bet Delphine's never been laid properly by her boyfriend — if she had, she wouldn't be so willing to leave him, to cut him off without giving him a chance to kiss and make up. Hell, maybe he sucks at kissing, too. It's a tongue, guys, not a car wash. I don't think it was my imagination that she didn't seem to be all that upset about the breakup when we were talking over coffee. Women who are really into their SOs don't shut up about them, and she didn't mention him once in almost 45 minutes, before she had to leave to TA her MicroBio class.

Fuck, I can just about feel my hands tracing the lines of her torso, stroking her, watching the way she responds so I can find her most sensitive places. There's something really satisfying in getting a straight girl so worked up that she forgets that she was ever freaked out about being with a woman for the first time.

I hook one leg over the arm of my chair to open myself up, abandoning my breasts to slip three fingers into my cunt while I go to town on my clit. My buttcheeks and thighs are tensing in synch with the movements of my hands. By now I'm hyperventilating and my heart is about to pound out of my chest. The vinyl seat of my chair is making this _grrnnnngkk_ ing sound under my ass and the springs are squeaking like crazy.

She's probably one of the quiet ones. Those are the most fun, getting them to bust out of their shells and give in to every hidden nasty impulse they've ever had or never even knew they'd crave. An image burns into my head: Delphine wearing a harness, black leather straps standing out in contrast against her pale perfect skin. Her hand pumping back and forth along the length of her cock...

Shit, that's done it. My leg that's braced on the floor is starting to shake. Wet slurping sounds from my cunt, wet lapping sounds of my fingers flying over my clit. Body tensing and jerking until convulsions slam through me, my cunt spilling come all over my fingers and thighs, strangled howls bursting from me as I shudder again and again. I can actually see fireworks when I close my eyes, along with little red blood cells shooting through my capillaries in time with every rock and thrust of my hips.

Sweating and panting, I slouch gracelessly all over the chair. It's awkward as hell but I can't really move, and it takes a long time for my breath and pulse to return to normal. "Goddamn, Delphine Beraud." I keep my hands in place at my clit and cunt, with just enough pressure and movement to keep me quivering. "I don't know if you're as good as you look, but fucking hell I'd like to find out."


	4. You Can Do It - We Can Help

"This place smells weird."

I inhale deeply, breathing in the familiar miasma of unidentifiable chemical and mechanical scents. "Maybe. I'm just used to it, I guess."

"You would be, Dr. DIY." Letting go of me so I can grab a cart from the corral, she slides a hand into the back pocket of my jeans, her fingers caressing my buttock as we stroll over toward the gardening center. "What I don't get is how you can MacGyver, like, a cuckoo clock out of aluminum foil, Tinker Toys and a handful of thumbtacks but can't put together a simple table from IKEA without screwing it up."

Bumping her with my hip, I stick out my tongue at her. "That's because the cuckoo clock would probably have clear, concise and logical directions for its construction. Whereas the IKEA table comes with a 30-page booklet filled with infernally unhelpful cartoon figures and exploded diagrams that don't warn you that some of the parts have extra holes for no reason whatsoever. And you have to put it together with a stubby little hex wrench that cramps your hand before you can screw in a bolt even halfway and then strips the socket before it can be seated properly."

"Yeah, well, it took me thirty minutes to undo your mess and then maybe ten to assemble it the right way. I just think it's fucking hilarious that you have absolutely no chill when it comes to that shit."

I roll my eyes, giving the cart a little extra shove against the rubber bumpers on the heavy swinging doors to nudge them open. Over in the far aisle, I sling three 60.5-liter bags of organic potting mix, a bag of worm compost and a bag of perlite into the cart. On the way back to the main store area, I grab a roll of contractor weed control fabric and a bottle of fish fertilizer. An older couple approaching with a cart full of cleaning supplies frown at us as Cosima slips her hand back into my pocket; she waggles her tongue obscenely and blows them a noisy kiss as the woman scowls and looks away.

"That wasn't very nice of you, chérie," I murmur in her ear, taking the opportunity to kiss her cheek.

"Not my fault those two are so uptight they probably shit diamonds," she says, not bothering to lower her voice. "Dried up old bat's probably got cobwebs in what used to be her pussy. Hey!" she glares at me when I pinch her bottom.

Giving her my blandest look, I head us over to the storage container aisle. Quickly I find three 53-liter and three 38-liter heavy-duty plastic totes and stack them and their lids into the cart.

"So what is it you're making, again?"

"Sub-irrigated containers, so I can grow herbs and other things on the terrace. Not _that_ kind of herb," I admonish at her bemused look.

"Spoilsport."

"Brat."

In Plumbing, I find three pieces of PVC pipe of the right diameter pre-cut to an appropriate length. "That should be it. Do we need anything else?"

"Hmmm." A mischievous glint in her eye makes me suddenly uneasy. "They sell, like, carpets and rugs here, don't they?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Yes, but why?"

"You'll see," she says in a singsong voice.

"Okay," I say as we approach the carpeting section. "Please don't tell me you want to cover up the hardwood and granite floors with _that_."

Critically eyeing the long strip of grass-colored artificial turf, she shrugs. "Nah. Maybe someday if we want to set up a putt-putt course in the entranceway or something." Taking me by the hand, she tows me away from the cart and toward a humpbacked pile of carpet samples and remnants. Which is comfortably waist-high for her and, she demonstrates, quite firm and supportive when she drapes herself over it.

My mouth suddenly dry, it takes a couple tries for my voice to work. "Cosima!" I hiss.

She raises her head and grins impudently at me, swiveling and humping her ass suggestively. A wide-eyed passing customer rams the corner of his cart into a stack of laminate flooring. "What do you think?"

I swallow hard, looking up as an orange-aproned associate starts toward us from the other end of the aisle. "I think you're going to get us thrown out of this store in record time."

"Lucky for you I'm not looking to get arrested today, babe." Reluctantly she clambers to her feet, then drapes her arms around my neck to kiss me deeply. "But in case you didn't notice," she murmurs against my lips, "if we threw a few more pieces on top of that pile, it would be the absolutely perfect height for you to ream out my ass."

My face flushes. "The thought did cross my mind."

"Pervy girl." She smiles. "Say the word and it's yours."

I nip the tip of her nose. "I'll think about it." Which I can't help doing, in minute detail, my mind's eye picturing a great many scenarios in which the pile could come in handy. Deciding that she looks entirely too pleased with herself, I swat her on her bottom to make her yelp in protest. "This way, chérie."

"Lay on, Macduff." Her hand again comes to rest against my buttock as I steer our heavily laden cart toward the hardware section and the fasteners aisle. "Ooooohhh."

Watching her take in the seemingly endless selection of various types and colors and sizes of rope and chain and bins of eyebolts and carabiners, I smile. "Do you see anything you like?"

"See everything I like," she says huskily, pulling me into another kiss.

For a long moment I forget about everything else except the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her mouth, the warmth of her slender body, the scent of her skin and hair, the insistent press of her firm thigh against my crotch. A wolf-whistle from a passing customer brings me back to earth. I pull away with a smile, resting my forehead against hers. "Bee charmer."

With an effort I tear myself from her embrace and move closer to inspect one of the dangling ropes, a wide silky multi-stranded plait that glides smoothly through my fingers. "Hmm, I like this." Swiftly I tie a slipknot in the end and tighten the loop just below her elbow, then throw a few half-hitches up her forearm, placing the last one at her wrist. Unspooling a little more of the rope, I tug on her arm to test the security; it holds nicely despite its slipperiness, the half-hitches preventing the knot from cutting off her circulation no matter how hard I pull.

"Very nice," she says, eyeing the reel speculatively. "How long is this, do you think?"

"I don't know, maybe a hundred meters or so. Why?"

"Something I read about once. Fascinating book about a Japanese bondage art called kinbaku. Think about tying me up with this, with knots in a few strategic places — like right against my clit, so that every time I tried to move or you pulled on the rope, that knot would rub over me. For fucking _hours_ , if you want."

I feel a jolt straight to my sex, my heart banging wildly in my chest just from imagining it. "I want," I say hoarsely, claiming her mouth again and cupping the rounds of her ass in my hands, pulling her hips tight against mine.

As though from a distance I hear a querulous voice saying, "There they are!," then the sound of a throat clearing.

Breaking our kiss, I look over to see the older lady we'd encountered earlier clutching at the arm of a vaguely embarrassed looking man in a short sleeved shirt bearing a nametag that identifies him as the store manager. "Pardon me, ladies. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to pay for your merchandise and leave."

Quickly, though not without a great deal of giggling from both of us, I unwind the end of the rope from Cosima's forearm and pull the rest of it off the reel, coiling the entire length into a neat bundle. We meekly check out, then trundle the cart out to the parking lot.

"Hey, Delphine?" she says, wrapping her arms around me from behind as I stow our purchases in the trunk and back seat.

"Yes, Cosima?"

"Wanna go get kicked out of Lowe's?"

* * *

 _Okay, okay, this isn't exactly smutty, but there will be follow-up chapters that springboard off of this one. Next up: Saturday night at the movies_ _— who cares what picture we see?_


	5. Saturday Night at the Movies

"'I, Frankenstein'?" I say in disbelief as Cosima hands our tickets to the bored looking usher at the theatre entrance. The dilapidated building has stained dingy carpeting and numerous burnt out lightbulbs in the lobby, which smells of must and stale popcorn and appears to double as a video rental store. It's a far cry from either the Lightbox or the recently renovated Bloor where we usually go to see a film.

One eyebrow flickers. "Yup."

Tucking her arm through the crook of my elbow, she eschews her habit of going straight to the concession stand and steers us down a nearly deserted hallway. I try another approach. "I've heard it's a terrible movie."

"Yup." She holds open the door of the screening room for me and follows me around the corner from the darkened entranceway. It is well past the stated starting time but the interminable previews and ads are still running on the smallish screen. Pausing for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the dimness, I realize that we are the only people in here.

We make our way up the poorly lighted wide stairs to the middle of the back row, removing our coats and setting them aside along with our purses before sitting in our rather hard, uncomfortable seats. Cosima scoots over as closely as possible and leans over the armrest to snuggle against me. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hold her, dipping my head to kiss her softly at first, then with quickening hunger. Barely registering the images and sounds of whatever coming attractions are playing, most of which seem to involve explosions, I can't help noticing the significant distension at her crotch. My heart starts pounding and my thighs instinctively rub together.

Skimming my hand down her torso and alighting at her upper thigh, I immediately recognize the relatively short but immensely thick outline of one of my favorite of her large, extensively varied collection of toys. "So this is why you kept your coat on all through dinner."

"Mmhmm."

"Naughty girl," I whisper in her ear, stroking and squeezing the tremendous bulge through the thin material of her pants.

"Hang on, babe," she murmurs, placing a hand on my wrist to stay me. "The movie hasn't started yet." She kisses me again, her teeth skating just inside my lips. The tip of her tongue seeks entrance, which I eagerly grant.

Grasping the shaft of her cock and grinding the heavy base against her trapped clit, I capture her moans with my mouth, tracing with my tongue the borders of her swelling lips. "I thought the movie was entirely beside the point, chérie."

Distorted images glint off her glasses as she glances around, confirming that we are still alone in the theatre. "Touché, Dr. Cormier." Winding her fingers into my hair, she pulls me into an increasingly heated kiss until I am lightheaded and breathless. I am vaguely aware that the lights have completely dimmed and something dark and foreboding is taking place onscreen, but my attention is focused on her hand as it gathers up the hem of my dress with maddening deliberation. Slender fingers slip inside my already soaked underwear, brushing the tangle of curls covering my mound. "Take these off," she says hoarsely.

Quickly I wriggle out of my damp panties, pulling them off past my shoes and tossing them aside somewhere on the sticky floor. Sliding down to the edge of my seat, I hitch my dress up around my waist, spreading my legs to their widest extent.

"Tch. _So_ impatient," she purrs, caressing the curve of my hip. The theatre rumbles with the sound of a screaming and clashing battle between humans and demons and possibly gargoyles as she moves slowly, far too slowly, to stroke the insides of my trembling thighs.

In retaliation for her teasing, I reach to undo the button of her waistband as well as the zipper of her fly. Freeing her cock and taking hold of it firmly in my hand, I smile to myself as she shudders at my touch. I urge her legs apart and discover that she is wearing her harness in its "G-string" configuration with a second dildo nestled inside her glistening cunt and held in place by a separate ring. Enough of her wetness seeps out when I thread my fingers around the strap that I can coat my hand, painting her cock with slick fragrant heat. Her eyes are glued to my hand as I slide it up and down her enormously thick, stubby length until she cannot keep her hips from pumping into the grinding pressure.

Without warning I bend to rub my cheek against her cock's broad, smooth head, then curl and lap my tongue to lick her all over like an ice cream cone, seeking out every trace of her arousal. Her cock is far too thick and large for me to be able to deep-throat her but I manage to get the huge head into my mouth, suckling and swirlng noisily.

Cosima makes a strangled sound deep in her chest, gently pushing my mouth away. "Fuck! I need to be inside you, babe." Scrambling out of her seat, she leans in to kiss me while yanking down her pants and settling her hips between my legs. Holding the shaft of her cock, she rubs the head over my clit and through the weeping folds of my sex. Already we are both panting raggedly. "Ready?"

I nod. "Slow," I say, knowing that even as wet as I am, it will take a little time before I can accommodate her thickness.

She nods in return and kisses me softly. Easily she finds my eager entrance and gradually, infinitesimally presses home.

Deliberately deepening my breath and focusing on relaxing, I rub my straining clit. She licks her lips, avidly watching my hand as bit by bit her massive cock carves me open. There is a moment of stretching pain but it passes quickly, my swollen cunt bathing her cock and my fingers in my pouring arousal. Buried to the hilt at last, the wet clasping suck of my cunt urging her on, she braces her arms against the wall behind me and begins to thrust and rock. Head bowed in concentration, her dreads swing gently in time with the small movements, back and forth and side to side, limited by the narrow confines of the creaking seat.

Crossing my legs behind her to pull her even more deeply inside, I abandon my clit and glide my hands over her back beneath her sweater, kneading the long flat planes on either side of the deep groove of her spine. I let my palms come to rest at the rounds of her flexing, churning buttocks, delighting in the feeling of firm muscle shifting under warm smooth skin. Curling my fingers around the wide flat buttery soft leather strap that rides low across her hips, I tug experimentally, making her grunt with surprise and pleasure as the motion shifts the dildo inside her.

My hips moving easily with hers, we quickly find our rhythm, completely ignoring the shrieking cacophony of the film that continues to unspool before our unseeing eyes. Heat rises from us, sweat sheening our bodies and dampening our remaining clothes as we kiss and hump fiercely. I am unable to suppress a shriek as she snakes a hand between us to circle her thumb over my achingly distended clit, which hardens unbelievably at her touch. I feel her thumb batter me more roughly when the convulsions begin in my cunt and ripple outward as I come violently, gasping and writhing and twisting beneath her and gripping her so tightly that at times she cannot move, shuddering uncontrollably until at last I am slumped in a boneless heap, clinging to her slender form and sobbing for breath.

We spend the rest of the movie in similar fashion, Cosima's own long-delayed release coinciding with yet another incomprehensible and fortunately deafening battle. Having lost count of how many times she has made me come, I have to admit exhaustion; besides, my lower back is on fire and my cunt is decidedly beyond pleasurably sore. Carefully she pulls out, managing to ease her cock back into her pants while I sit up and futilely attempt to straighten my dress, all too aware of the wetness pooling between my legs and staining the fabric of my skirt. Indulging in long deep solacing kisses until the house lights come up and the credits crawl along the screen, reluctantly we break apart and gather our things. My underwear I crumple into an abandoned popcorn bag, dropping the whole thing into a trash can on our way out.

"Enjoy the film, ladies?" says the usher as we walk hand in hand toward the exit.

She cuts a glance at me and gives me a wink, then smiles at him. "Best fucking movie we've ever seen, dude."


	6. Love in an Elevator

"Since when do you go for this touristy kind of stuff?"

Her arm tucked in mine, Cosima leans her head against my shoulder as we stroll from the restaurant to the glass-floored area of the LookOut level. The last traces of the spectacular sunset have finally disappeared. I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean, chérie? Are you saying you didn't enjoy dinner and the view?"

She tips up her chin to kiss me, almost making me veer into a wall. The taste of her apple crisp and sour cream ice cream mingles beautifully with my smoked Gorgonzola and tawny port. "Not saying that at all. The food was awesome and the view was outstanding. And the company was unparalleled."

I can't help kissing her again as we reach the elevators, making sure to steer us toward the pair facing south. "But?"

"But, well... dinner in a revolving restaurant in the CN tower? It was really nice, but I don't think we've ever done anything quite so, um, conventional for date night."

The door opens and I gesture for her to enter first, nodding at the attendant.

"Ooohhh, cool!" Immediately distracted by the clear glass panels embedded in the floor, through which we can see lights and cables going all the way down the shaft, she doesn't notice my handing our coats to the attendant, who steps out after giving me a jaunty salute and a wink. I try not to roll my eyes as the doors close. The car descends a short way and stops; the lights blink off, leaving us in darkness surrounded on three sides by glittering lights stretching out as far as the eye can see. "Uh. What's up?"

I back her into one of the glass walls and wrap my arms around her, enfolding her in a deep kiss. "What is up, my dear Cosima," I say, nibbling and tugging playfully at her lower lip as my hands roam slowly up and down her back, over her buttocks, along the taper of her sides, "is that I have, euh, remunerated our attendant friend to leave us alone in here for twenty minutes, which is the maximum amount of time the elevator can be stalled before the automated system calls for emergency servicing." Turning her around so that she is looking out over the city, I settle her hands firmly on the rail and press the length of my body to curve against hers. "So we can either spend that twenty minutes taking in the view," I butterfly-kiss the nape of her slender neck, which is beautifully exposed since her dreads are swept up into an intricate bun, "or we can find out if and how hard I can make you come in my mouth before our time is up."

She makes a strangled sound and tightens her grip on the rail, eagerly widening her stance. I grin to myself.

Eeling around to kneel in front of her, my back pressed to the glass, slowly I smooth my hands up the beautifully delineated muscles of her thighs and the gentle curves of her hips until the brief skirt of her peacock blue dress is pushed up well above her waist. I nuzzle her lacy panties, breathing in the scent of her arousal and brushing my lips over her silk-covered mound until she squirms. Fingers wind into my hair as I tug at the elastic band with my teeth, then with my hands down to her spread knees. The wispy fabric constrains her legs far too much for my satisfaction; impatiently I yank at it until it gives way.

"Dude! Those were like fifty bucks at Tryst."

The indignant expression on her face makes me want to giggle. I give her my wickedest smile. "I'll buy you a dozen more pairs, and rip them off you whenever and wherever you want." Using my elbows to gently nudge her legs farther apart, I settle one of her thighs firmly over my shoulder and press a kiss into the incredibly tender skin at the join of her hip. "Forgive my skipping the preliminaries, chérie, but I've been waiting all evening to do this." With the flat of my hands I part her damp-darkened curls and outer lips, my tongue delving to paint a slow, meandering path. The discovery of her glorious heat and wetness makes my heart stutter.

"By all means," she says, her voice a harsh rasp. The heel of her shoe digs into my back as her body tenses and arches toward my mouth, her hands gnarling in my hair.

I manage to lean my head back enough to glance up at the glorious display. "You are so beautiful," I say, feathering the lightest of kisses over her scarlet swelling clit, then slowly tracing with the tip of my tongue along every fold and crevice of her sex. My senses fill with her impossibly rich sweet salty tangy taste as I dip and swirl briefly into the flood of her arousal. Teasing at the satiny skin over her taint makes her cry out, the muscles of her leg tautening and flexing against my shoulder. Slowly, so very slowly, I lick my way delicately back up toward her clit, all the while paddling the tips of my fingers just outside the heat-slick entrance of her cunt.

The helpless surging of her hips urges me on. I drag my tongue up one side of her straining clit and down the other, again and again until she hisses with pleasure. I easily slide two fingers inside her at the same time I close my lips over the ripe bursting little bundle of nerves, sucking swirling flicking gently, then with more intensity, my lips and tongue applying increasing pressure. Her body already lightly sheened with sweat beneath the form-fitting cling of her dress, her mouth falls open in a snarling rictus as she gasps and pants raggedly, her grip tightening almost painfully in my hair. Responding to the urgency of her movements, I suckle even harder, my fingers stroking curling swiveling inside her astonishing heat. My face and wrist are bathed in her come, the scent of her surrounding and overwhelming me. I feel the tightening of the muscles in her back and legs, the elegance of the desperate dance of her hips against my mouth and fingers, the flutter in the rhythmic clutching of her walls. Slipping a third finger inside her while my tongue circles and purposefully goads her plumply rigid clit, I can hear a marked change in the tenor of her muffled cries. Her whole body seems to hold its breath, then with a hoarse shout she is wracked with convulsions, bucking into my mouth and riding my fingers savagely. Slowing but not stopping my thrusts and gradually lightening the pressure of my tongue, every slightest motion jerks yet another shudder from her body until she is quiveringly still.

Letting her leg slide off my shoulder, her foot drops heavily to the floor with a thump. Carefully I free my fingers and rise somewhat stiffly, gathering her into my arms as I reluctantly note the time. Clinging to me, still panting and sweating, she nestles her head into the curve of my neck and starts chuckling.

"What's so funny, chérie?" I kiss her softly on the temple, breathing in her scent sharpened with the tang of clean sweat.

"Nothing much, babe. I was just thinking that you might not want to shake the elevator dude's hand when he gets back in here."

I make a face. "Yes, you're probably right." Helping her to straighten out her dress, I remember to wipe my face with her torn panties that I had stowed in my pocket, then cradle her cheeks in my palms to kiss her blindly wherever my lips alight. "So," I say, dusting tiny kisses along her eyebrows, down her nose, along the line of her jaw, "you were expressing disappointment that our evening was so 'touristy' and 'conventional'?"

"You're not gonna let that go, are you," she says wryly, her hands sliding under the hem of my sweater to seek out my skin, circling and kneading lightly.

Sighing at her touch, I smile and bend to kiss her again, letting her taste herself in my mouth. "No. But it makes me wonder... "

"Yeeeeesss?"

"Perhaps we could write a very different kind of tour guide. It would take a great deal of research, though."

"Oh, Dr. Cormier," she murmurs into our kiss. "You know I am _all_ about the research."

* * *

 _Next chapter is going to be a bit different, something I've been playing with for a while but never really had the right setting to use. Hope it works..._


	7. Paid for Every Dance

**Paid for Every Dance**

I get the call in the middle of my third set of hanging knee raises. My abs and obliques are on fire, so I'm only too glad to drop to the floor and stagger over to my phone. I grab the bottle next to it and take a huge gulp of water before jabbing at the screen to answer it. "Amalia my love, how can I be of service today?"

 _"Got an open-ended outcall booking for you, Johnny boy. Saturday night, so you've got a few days to prep. You're gonna like this one."_

Wiping sweat off my chest and arms with a towel, I drain half the bottle. I've never actually met the agency's coordinator, but she could work as a phone sex operator, her voice is that hot. Kind of like Kathleen Turner's back in the day, only with a trace of a southern drawl. For all I know she's plain as a barn door, but as long as she kept talking to me I'd totally do her. "Yeah? Wait, what the hell kind of prep do I need for an outcall?"

 _"You'll see. The client is a D. Cormier. Sending the contract and specs now."_

I scroll through the email attachment, feeling my eyebrows climb. For one thing, the address is in Rosedale Park, not exactly my usual stomping grounds. Most of my clients tend to cluster around the downtown area — hotels and gyms along Queen, coffee shops on Church. For another, the client is a woman. I certainly don't have any objections but for a woman to request my particular skills is... unexpected. My interest is definitely piqued. "I just got tested a couple weeks ago. She really wants all this labwork done?"

 _"That's what she says. She's paying for it, so what do you care?"_

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks, sweetheart."

 _"You got it, sugar tits."_

With that, she disconnects the call. No further excuses, so I go back to my workout routine. Body, temple, all that shit. Besides, I get paid top rates to stay in a certain kind of shape. This job looks to be even more lucrative than most; no way am I going to start slacking off now.

After a long shower, taking care to exfoliate and moisturize thoroughly, I get dressed and drive over to the Dyad Institute. Big ugly glass and steel slab of a building. I've passed by it before plenty of times but never had a reason to go inside. As the client had specified, I give my name to the receptionist at the front desk. He hands me a visitor tag and a printout with directions. I thank him and start to head toward the elevators but stop, peering over the counter. "Brioni?"

He looks surprised, then pleased, smoothing a hand over his suit's lapels and fussing with the lavender statice boutonnière over the left breast. "Yes."

"Nice tailoring. And I've never been able to tie a Trinity knot that perfectly symmetrical."

The guy's practically preening now. I give him a wink and get out of there before he gets any ideas. Not that I mind a little harmless flirting, but just because I appreciate when someone pays attention to details doesn't necessarily mean I want to go any further.

At the lab, a tech hands me a specimen jar and a sterile swab and points me toward a small bathroom. I'm a pro at peeing into plastic cups; I don't spill or splash a drop. As instructed, I wipe the tip of my cock with an antiseptic pad out of a little packet and then carefully insert the swab a couple of centimeters into my piss hole, holding it in place for a few seconds before sliding the swab out and inserting it into a plastic sleeve labeled with a number but no other identifying information. I leave the jar and swab on a shelf behind a sliding metal hatch in the wall and return to the lab.

The tech draws what seems to be quarts of blood. "Do you really need all that just for an STD panel?" I say, watching tube after tube get filled via the vacutainer jabbed into the big vein inside the bend of my elbow.

"This is what Dr. Cormier ordered, so yes."

So my mystery client is a doctor. Interesting.

I shrug and put it out of my mind, submitting to a full physical, including a rectal exam. Returning home, I get ready for my appointment this evening. Married salesman in town from the States for a convention. Business as usual.

On Saturday evening, I arrive for my outcall in plenty of time to park at the farthest corner of the visitors' level of the garage, well away from all the other cars. Someone might, I don't know, _breathe_ on the R8 or something. I find the elevator and take it to the lobby. The concierge has been notified to expect me and directs me to a separate elevator that's obviously for the private use of the residents. He slots a keycard into the control panel's reader and steps out with a nod. In a few seconds the elevator takes me straight to the top floor of the 10-story building.

The doors open directly onto the entranceway of the unit, which reeks of quiet but serious money and understated good taste. Music plays over the sound system, something with a steady thumping beat like electronica but not loud enough to be obnoxious. The long wall opposite the elevator features a huge painting that takes up most of the space. It looks like some graffiti mural you'd see in the alleys along Rush Lane, but then what the hell do I know about art?

Following instructions, I go down the hall past the kitchen and living room and pause at the first room on the left. The door is open but I knock on it anyway as a courtesy. And come to a dead stop.

The lights are low but I get a good look at the blonde sitting propped against the headboard of the enormous bed. Definitely not the middle-aged spinster I'd been picturing. She's a knockout. So is the little brunette perched on her lap, arms draped around the blonde's neck. I catch a tantalizing whiff of sex and sweat. From the flush on both their faces and the swelling of their lips, they seem to have made a good head start on getting this party going.

Guess I'm not going to need the Viagra spray in my pocket after all.

"Hello, Michael," says the blonde in a soft, slightly accented voice, using my agency name. Not really my pick, but I had to admit my employers were right that no client would take me seriously if I went by my given name, John. "I'm Delphine, and this is Cosima." Oh, man. I do have a thing for voices but this woman is the whole package. Enormous doe eyes, gorgeous oval face, hair tumbling past her shoulders in loose golden waves that I immediately want to run my fingers through. Her cream silk dressing gown clings to every curve of her slender body and is short enough to leave her legs mostly bare. Really fucking nice legs. Down, boy.

"Hey," says the brunette, waving, breaking into a smile so genuinely warm and friendly that I find myself smiling back. Small and compact but really toned. Probably into yoga or Pilates, judging by the lean, non-bulky definition of her muscles and the taut flatness of her belly. Nice tits, high and rounded. Her hair is in long neat dreads; not usually my thing, but it works for her. She seems to be perfectly comfortable wearing black rimmed cat-eye shaped glasses and almost nothing else.

My eye focuses on the "almost," a thick purple dildo rearing from a soft looking black leather harness that's perfectly fitted to the brunette's hips. Hard not to stare, since the blonde's hand hasn't stopped stroking it since I walked in. I can't help feeling a twinge of anxiety. Not because of the size of the thing, which is respectable but easily manageable; handballing is my specialty calling card and I can take a man's arm past the elbow, after all. But in my years in the trade, every time I've gotten torn, it's been by a woman with a strap-on and more enthusiasm than experience. Usually nothing that won't heal with some antibiotics and time, but it puts my asshole out of commission for weeks, which is tough on the bank account.

A closer look at the nightstand makes me feel better. Large pump bottle of Maximus and a brand new can of Crisco. A metal bowl on a stand set over a votive candle. Boxes of gloves, both latex and nitrile, in varying lengths. My favorite brand of condoms in my preferred size. Someone knows her shit, or anyway did her research. Bless you, Amalia.

"The agency informed you about what we want and expect?" says the blonde. I look at her sharply. Despite the softness of her voice and eyes, she's clearly in charge.

"I did a full clean-out this afternoon and took a shower right before I came over. No fluid exchange. No kissing. No drugs. Double condoms on at all times. And I don't touch either of you unless you tell me to."

Their eyes smile at each other. No sign of nervousness or embarrassment, just excitement and an electric current of attraction that makes my cock surge. This is no bored couple looking to spice up their monotonous sex life — the heat coming off these two could spark a forest fire. "Not me, only Cosima. I will be present but not participating."

"Understood."

Those wide doe eyes turn on me, suddenly hooded and flatly unreadable. "I hope I don't need to remind you that discretion is of paramount importance."

I refrain from mentioning that that's what she's paying me for, among other things. "Of course. I take it you were satisfied with my test results?"

"Very." Her expression thaws. "You're in admirable health, Michael."

"Thank you. May I see your hands?" I say to the little brunette.

"Sure." She beckons me toward the bed and lets me inspect first one hand, then the other. Small hands, nicely kept and manicured. Short nails filed to perfectly smooth bevels, no sharp edges or snags anywhere. Couldn't have done better myself.

"Thank you," I say again.

One corner of her mouth curls. "No problem, dude."

"Shall we begin?" says the blonde.

I nod. "Just to be clear, the clock started running as soon as I got off the elevator and walked into your place."

"Of course. Undress, please. Slowly." She wraps her arms around the little brunette, who tucks her head against the blonde's neck. They're both watching me expectantly.

My cock is leaping like a tarpon. Damn, I like a woman who knows what she wants and isn't shy about asking for it. I take off my jacket and hang it on the valet stand she has provided. It's a nice thoughtful touch — most of my clothes are bespoke from Garrison's and clients usually don't consider that I might not want to toss them over a chair. Shoes and socks next, and then my shirt, which I hang beside the jacket. I take off my pants, then ease my boxer-briefs down past my already hard cock.

"Very nice," says the little brunette, giving me a thumbs up. She tilts her head to kiss the blonde and then clambers off her lap to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Just what the doctor ordered," I say flippantly.

She snorts and tosses me a box of condoms after pulling one out for herself. Quickly I take out two and put them on, one after the other, before she can open hers. I hold out my hand. "May I?"

One eyebrow arches above her glasses and she smiles again at the blonde. "Knock yourself out."

Kneeling in front of her, I tear open the packet with my teeth and place the condom in my mouth, gently holding the edges with my lips. Resting it on the head of her cock and pressing my tongue against the tip to keep air out of the reservoir, I roll it all the way down.

She leans back on her hands, watching me slowly swallow her entire length. "Dude. That's fucking hot."

Fuck, her pussy smells good. Careful not to touch her anywhere except with my mouth on her cock, I lick and suck at her until she is pumping her hips to drive herself down my throat.

"On your hands and knees on the bed, Michael," says the blonde. Her voice is thickened and her eyes are dilated. I get it now: she likes to watch. Fine by me.

Pulling my mouth away with a wet pop, I move smoothly but quickly to comply. I hear the snap of a glove, then feel the little brunette settling behind me. Her bare hand strokes and kneads my buttocks while her gloved hand spreads warmed lube over my taint. "A little more firmly, chérie. It's not as intense as it will be once you're inside him, but you can still stimulate his prostate this way."

Clever fingers circle and rub, tentatively at first, then with more confidence when she can tell I'm really getting into it. Most clients don't give a shit about my comfort or safety, much less my enjoyment. It's a revelation.

Her hand abandons me, but only long enough to coat itself in more lube and start to rim my asshole. "Press with the pad of your finger right at the entrance, gently but steadily. He should let you right in — yes, just like that." I can hear them kissing, which is making me almost as hot as the finger sliding in and out of me.

A trickle of lube pours between my cheeks. The brunette's fingers are so slim that I barely notice when she slips a second one inside, accompanied by a lot more lube. "You should feel it a few centimeters in, on the anterior wall. It's about the size of a walnut."

She finds my P-spot almost immediately, making me grunt. "Kinda feels like a ripe plum, firm but just a little squishy."

"Yes. Lightly and slowly at first, he'll be very sensitive."

Her fingers stroke me in a "come hither" motion, sometimes circling, sometimes moving side to side. Unable to stop grinding my hips, I groan, letting my head hang between my shoulders. Not needing any prompting, she gradually increases the speed and intensity. Tension builds from my ass inward, spreading tingling warmth throughout my belly and up my spine. Without really meaning to, I drop down to my elbows, raising my hips higher as my lower back, thighs and buttocks tighten and shake until my entire body is flooded with heat and an incredibly powerful sensation of release. "Fuuuuuuuck."

"Uh, Michael?"

"That," I manage to say into the sheets, sweating like a whore in church, "would be a prostate orgasm." _Please don't stop oh god please dont stop..._

As if she can hear my thoughts, I feel more lube pouring over and inside me. She's four fingers in now, twisting and plunging, and I am going out of my mind with how good it feels.

"Can you take her hand now?"

"Yes!"

I force myself to hold still, deepening my breathing and willing my ass to relax. Her hands are tiny compared with what usually gets shoved up there so this will be a piece of cake, but I find myself enjoying the process in a way I haven't in a long, long time. Withdrawing enough to tuck her thumb against her palm, the wedge of her fingers slowly, slowly works me open again. Gradually I stretch to accommodate the width of her hand, feeling it fold in on itself inside me as my ass slides down to close over her wrist. My entire body sags with gratitude, slavishly happy to place all my trust in this incredible girl.

"Dude," she says, her voice filled with wonder, "I can feel your pulse. Are you all right?"

Unable to speak, I nod, hoping she can see.

Slowly, she twists her fist within me, rocking it back and forth and bumping her knuckles over my prostate with each pass. Another wave of orgasm hits me unexpectedly, so overwhelming I can't even process what I'm feeling. Shit, when I'm finally allowed to touch my cock I am going to shoot like a geyser for _days_.

Lost in a haze of arousal, I dimly realize that warm lube is pouring all over my ass. "You sure it'll fit?" she says dubiously.

"Your wrist is much smaller than your hand. If you open your hand slightly and curl your arm around a bit, you should be able to slide your cock inside him alongside it. Michael?"

I say something that probably comes out completely garbled, but my ass ain't going anywhere and they know it.

My eyes close reflexively when the little brunette's hand shifts and the smooth, firm head of her cock nudges at my asshole. I can feel her leaning her slight weight into me as she pushes gently and steadily inside me until her hips mold themselves to my buttcheeks.

I hear them kissing again. "Now, chérie. Fuck your cock into your hand. Tighten it if you want more resistance but keep your movements slow and small — you can very easily tear him like this."

"Holy fucking shit," she says, echoing the scrambled thoughts dribbling from what's left of my brain as she starts to twist and grind and pulse her hips. Even the slightest, subtlest motion sends a ripple of pleasure shuddering through me. "Breathe, dude," I hear her gasp into my ear.

But I can't. I can't breathe, I can't think. Some part of my consciousness recognizes that after a good long while the rhythm of her hips is getting jerkier and more frantic, but all I can do is feel and willingly give in to the full-body tremors that roar through me again and again, getting closer together until they just don't stop.

Someone is screaming. Might be her. Might be me.

After what seems like hours of constant, mindblowing pleasure, I've lost count of how many times she's come inside me. Finally her free hand closes around my cock, which is hard as a diamond and leaking pre-cum like a faucet. Every muscle in my body tenses and swells and throbs with heat, and after just a few strokes of her hand I start to come so hard I see little sparkling lights dancing behind my eyes.

I don't actually black out but it's pretty damned close. "Gently, now. Pulling out of him needs to be just as slow as going in." When her cock and then her hand finally slide free I feel so empty I almost want to cry.

In the bathroom across the hall, I slip off the condoms and tie them in a knot, tossing the sodden little package into the trash. The toilet has a built-in bidet function, which makes washing my cock and ass so much easier and more civilized than doing it in the sink. Back in the master bedroom I get dressed while my client and her girlfriend cuddle and kiss. Mechanically I bid them goodnight, trying to ignore the stab of profound envy at their obvious intimacy and passion.

While I'm waiting for the elevator, I can't help overhearing their voices as they drift down the hall.

"Happy birthday, chérie. Did you enjoy your present?"

"Oh, yeah. Like, mind equals _blown_. Have I told you lately how much I love you, Dr. Cormier?"

"Yes, and I love you too, Cosima. But if you don't fuck me right now I am going to go mad."

I'm so preoccupied with my thoughts that I nearly forget to do my routine check-in with the office until I'm back at my car, which unlocks automatically as I approach. _"Nice to hear from you, Johnny boy, I was beginning to worry. Have a good time?"_

Getting in, I flop heavily into the firm leather seat and shut the door, leaning my head back with a groan. "You have _no_ idea."

 _"I might have an inkling. She's already paid up. You should see the size of the tip she left you."_

I check my email for the receipt and whistle.

 _"That was my reaction, too. Another customer satisfied, I take it?"_

"She's not the only one. Let's just say, if she books me again, I'll do it for nothing. Shit, _I'll_ pay _her_."


	8. Bad Case of Loving You

**Bad Case of Loving You**

"Edna, 32 by 15 millimeters." Noting that the surrounding tissue looks more vascular than usual today, I change the setting to Power Doppler and confirm that blood flow throughout the tumor is distressingly robust. I sneak a glance at Cosima, not for the first time glad that without her glasses, she is much too nearsighted to see my reaction. "I'm afraid you'll probably experience some hemorrhaging later today."

"Oh, joy."

Returning to the standard setting, I resume scanning and taking measurements. "Ethel, Lurleen and Myrtle, all unchanged. And," I redirect the probe to point the transducer at the small intramural fibroid within the myometrium on the right side of her uterus, "Bob is still just Bob."

" ... Myrtle, unchanged, and Bob, ditto, got it," says Cosima, scribbling in her log with the notebook held barely inches from her face. "No new tumors?"

Completing one last sweep to evaluate her ovaries, I shake my head. "Not that I can see." I rotate the probe to untwist the cord and start to slide it out of her when a low moan stops me.

"Mmm. Do that again, babe." Tossing aside her notebook and pen, she rests her arms loosely beside her head and pushes up slightly with her feet that are braced widely apart on the edge of the bed. Swiveling her pelvis, she deliberately puts on a show, giving me an outstanding view of her naked body in wanton display.

I lick my lips, my mouth gone suddenly dry. "Do what again, chérie?"

"Press against the front wall of my cunt. No, a little more toward the — ohhhhh, yeah, right there."

Guiding the probe with tiny movements so that the smooth rounded face of the transducer circles and strokes the small, rapidly thickening area readily visible on the monitor, I am distracted by watching her hands move to cup and knead her breasts. She pinches her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, rolling them to hardened points and making me want to suck and bite them. I swallow hard. "I doubt that Requisitions will approve of our using Dyad's $30,000 ultrasound machine as a sex toy, Cosima. Besides, I need to get to work. I'm already running behind and I still have to finish the preliminaries for a — "

"What they don't know won't hurt them. Besides, the probe doesn't cost anywhere near that much. If we break it, you can take it out of my salary. _Nnnngghh_..."

Dancing the fingers of my free hand over and around her swelling clit, I am careful to follow the motion of her churning hips to prevent the slender probe from angling too sharply inside her. "I would prefer to take it out of your ass, petite peste." Unable to resist any longer, I slip off the padded bench to kneel on the rug beside the bed. Bracing with my elbows to keep her legs spread, I press the probe to the sensitive spot within her wetly clasping cunt as I run my tongue slowly through her folds, savoring the taste of her made saltier by the saline solution I had infused into her uterus to improve the resolution of the scan.

"Fuck, Dr. Cormier," she says, undulating her sex against my mouth, "it's even better when you help."

Just then my phone vibrates on the nightstand. "Merde!"

Twisting her upper body and stretching out an arm as far as she can reach, Cosima grabs the phone and checks the caller ID before holding it out to me. "It's Anisa. Tell her you're going to be late. Like, really really late."

Punching the screen with unnecessary force, I tuck the phone between my ear and my shoulder, placing a cautionary hand on one slim but well defined thigh. Cosima lifts her head briefly to grin mischievously at me and stick out her tongue, then lets it drop back down to the bed with a dramatic huffing sigh. "Yes, Anisa?" I say, careful to keep my voice steady and as neutral as possible.

 _"Dr. Cormier, pardon me but where the hell are you?"_ In my mind's eye, I can vividly picture the permanently disapproving expression carved into my assistant's face. _"Your meeting_ _ _to prep for the ISBioTech conference_ with the senior researchers from the cell and tissue banking department starts in less than an hour and you still haven't finalized the agenda."_

Cosima chooses that moment to snake a hand between her legs, momentarily reducing me to slack-jawed incoherence.

 _"Dr. Cormier?"_

I shake my head to clear it, attempting to regain at least a sliver of control over my senses. "Euh, yes. Tell Lakshmi and Daoud and their team that I'm very sorry but I'm going to be late. I have a... an urgent situation that I need to deal with."

Her fingers are shining with her come, making little slick sounds as she circles them slowly over her clit. A long groan crawls out of her throat and pushes its way free past her parted lips.

 _"How late is 'late'? And what would you like me to tell them about why you're not here?"_

Cosima is beginning to writhe in earnest. Her eyes narrow with silent laughter, amused by watching my attempt to extricate myself from this awkwardness. I tighten my grip on the ultrasound probe. Rocking it with even more pressure wrests another groan of pleasure from her and an uncharacteristically uncertain sound from my assistant over the phone. _"Erm. Dr. Cormier?"_

"My notes are in a folder on my computer desktop. Give them a copy and let them start to work on it. I'll get there when I can." Savagely I disconnect the call and throw my phone onto a nearby armchair. "You," I growl at Cosima, who blinks up at me, her expression the picture of innocence and guilelessness, "are such a _brat_!" Leaving the probe in place just long enough to go over to the nightstand, I pull out a glove and grab a bottle of lube. I return to the bench beside the bed, resuming my teasing of her cunt with steady oscillations of the probe. Slipping a single gloved finger into her ass, I rub at the transducer through the thin muscular wall, provoking an answering jerk of her hips. She makes a little whimpering sound, the subtle motions sending shudders rippling through her. Slowly, teasingly, I work my finger back and forth, feeling her ring spasm and clutch at me with every minute stroke.

I bend my head to barely touch the tip of my tongue to her clit, then sweep up and down alongside it. Circling rubbing flicking, gently but firmly curling the length of my tongue over the straining little bundle of nerves and working it side to side, I feel it pulse and ripen in response to my every move. My finger in her tight squirming ass fucks her slowly, twisting swirling plunging, making it clench in alternating rhythm with her cunt. Needing to be inside her, I pull out the probe and replace it with two fingers of my free hand, curling and stroking them within her clutching walls. She lets out a whimpering moan as I close my lips over her engorged clit, sucking hard and lashing it with the flat of my tongue. Her hips jerk wildly in a desperate dance led by my mouth and fingers, her cries escalating along with the tremors gathering in her body until the tension becomes too great to bear and she breaks with a hoarse shout, gripped by convulsions that tear violently through her again and again, squeezing my fingers bloodless as each slightest movement wrenches another great wracking shudder from her.

"You realize," she says when she is still at last, panting raggedly, her body sheened with sweat, "that I am never going to be able to go to the gynecologist again after this, Dr. Cormier."

Feathering a kiss on the quivering inside of her thigh, I smile against the tender skin, carefully withdrawing my fingers and discarding the glove into the wastebasket. "Not even if she buys you dinner first and examines you in the nude in the comfort of her bedroom the morning after?"

"Okay, maybe then." Straightening her legs, she wraps them around me.

"Cosima," I say warningly, trying to ignore the fragrant wet heat of her sex glazing the tops of my breasts.

"What?" she says, casually locking her ankles at the small of my back, pulling me even more tightly to her. "C'mere, babe. I need you to hold me."

Surrendering, I crawl up the bed to lie next to her and envelop her still trembling body in my arms. Rolling us so that she ends up draped over me, I breathe in the intoxicating scents of Cosima's come and sweat and my own undeniable arousal.

She busies herself nibbling lines of little kisses up the side of my neck, lingering at the tender spot below my ear until I sigh with pleasure. "Chérie. I'm already terribly late," I say, unable to stop myself from leaning my head back to give her better access.

She ghosts a breath into my ear. I barely manage to keep from squeaking. "Then you'd better come _really_ quickly," she purrs, kissing her way downward.


	9. I've Got Your Sugar, part 1

**I've Got Your Sugar if You'll Show Me Your Spice, part 1**

"Cosima."

One eyelid cracks open, as though she were not entirely sure whether she had dreamed or imagined my whisper. The bedroom is darker than usual at this hour because I had drawn the blinds in anticipation of her condition. Thin stripes of too-bright light slice between the vertical slats covering the wide windows. She mumbles incoherently as her eye flutters shut again; almost immediately she drifts back into a doze.

"Cosima," I say a little more loudly this time. She burrows deeper into her pillow, a tiny divot of a frown dimpling between her brows. I can't help smiling — she really is even cuter than usual when she's grumpy. Most mornings, she awakens far earlier than I, so I rarely get to see her actually asleep. The normally precise lines of her eye makeup are blotchy and smudged; that she had not bothered or remembered to remove it serves as yet another telltale that she had overindulged at our party last night.

Snuggling closer to spoon her from behind, I drape my arm over her and settle my hand at the curve of her ribcage just below her left breast. I revel in the feeling of her skin melding with mine, the soft-firmness of her in my embrace. "Cosimaaaaaaa..." I croon into her ear, nibbling and tugging at the lobe with careful teeth.

She grunts, clutching her pillow more tightly.

Gently I brush aside the curtain of her dreads so that I can leisurely kiss my way along her upper back to the nape of her neck, tickled by the wispy baby fine hairs there. I breathe in the spiciness of her scent mingled with the sour vestiges of her debauchery, the jumbled potpourri intriguingly magnified by the warmth cocooning us. Grabbing the edge of the duvet, I fling it down toward the foot of the bed.

At the sight of her beautifully exposed body, I let out a long breath released on a drawn out sigh. A grin steals across one corner of my mouth. Scattering kisses down the knurled ridges of her spine, I linger at the elegant curve of the small of her back, nuzzling at the tender skin. She is all heat and velvet over lean muscle beneath my lips. "Bonjour, chérie," I say brightly in a sing-song cadence when I feel her reluctantly stir.

"Since when are you so revoltingly perky at the ass-crack of dawn, Dr. Cormier?" she croaks.

I smile, kissing and nipping all over each of her smooth firm buttocks in turn. "I'm not, and it's not. It's nearly 10:00. Our guests will be here in about an hour."

It takes her a moment to process that. "Guests."

"Yes. For brunch." Scooting back up, I wrap her in my arms once again just in time to hold and coupage her through a series of hacking and finally productive coughs. No hemoptysis so far, I am relieved to see.

With considerable effort, she turns over to face me. Using her momentum to continue the movement, I roll us together so that I wind up on my back with her ragdoll frame draped sprawling over me. "Brunch?" she says at last.

I notice with amusement that her eyelids are still squeezed tightly shut. "Are you going to keep repeating everything I say? Yes, guests for brunch. About twenty of them, possibly more if some of them bring extra people along as they said they might."

"Twen — shit." She scrubs at an eye with a knuckle, unthinkingly smearing her makeup even more messily. "Um. Not that I mind having people over, especially if it involves omelettes and those awesome little cheesy poof thingies you make but, like, dude, what possessed you to invite half the world the morning after we have a blowout Christmas party?"

"I didn't invite them, chérie."

"What?"

"You did. After your fourth or fifth shot of tequila. I believe you were playing a game called 'Never Have I Ever.'"

An agonized groan reverberates against my neck, buoyed by an all but visible cloud of boozy fumes. "Fuck. And you didn't stop me?"

"You made it quite clear that it was neither my responsibility nor my business. After all, you're... how did you so eloquently put it? Ah, yes. You're a grown ass woman and you don't got the time to play high school."

Lifting her head, she squints blearily at me. "I quoted a Kelly Rowland song?"

"You made up a whole dance routine to go with it as well. It was quite creative. I don't think I could do it justice but there may have been a series of highly revealing and entertaining Snapchat videos documenting the process, courtesy of Sarah and Felix."

Cosima groans again and tucks her face back into the curve of my shoulder.

I press my lips to her forehead. Slowly I glide a hand down the long planes of her back, letting it come to rest just above where her ass flares into its delightful curves. With a single fingertip I dabble into the cleft at the very base of her spine until she shivers.

"I can feel you smiling. You're enjoying my pain and suffering just a little too much, Dr. Cormier."

"Self-inflicted pain and suffering," I remind her. "And yes, I am." I slip my other hand up to knead the back of her neck, prompting a rasping sigh.

"Mmmnnph. Okay, you can feel all virtuous and superior as much as you want as long as you keep doing that. Shit, I can feel my pulse in my hair."

"You're dehydrated. If you like, I can bolus some saline."

"Oh, god. I will love you forever if you do."

Laughing softly, careful not to jolt her too much, I kiss a path to her temple. "By that criterion, you must also love your infusion nurses, the rad techs, the anesthesia team..."

"What can I say, I have a lot of love to give. Unggk," she says as I slip out from beneath her and roll to my feet. Scooting her unresisting body closer to the edge, I pull the covers back up over her, kiss her on the tip of her nose and go to my medical supply cabinet in the bathroom.

I set up the IV pole and hang a 500-ml bag of normal saline, adding 8 mg of ondansatron and 40 mg of pantoprazole; on further consideration, I also add half a ml of vitamin B complex, which turns the solution a cheery yellow. Attaching and bleeding the air out of an infusion line and an extension set, I wheel the whole thing back to the bedroom, where Cosima is once again snoring lightly. Quickly I apply a tourniquet above her elbow and prep a small area on her forearm, slipping a 20g butterfly catheter into her median antebrachial vein and securing it with a Tegaderm dressing. Releasing the tourniquet, I connect the infusion line and adjust the valve on the clamp, mentally calculating the drip rate to run out the bag over 15 minutes.

After about half of it has gravity-dripped in, I bend to place my ear to auscultate her chest, attuned to the usual high-pitched wheezing of her inspiratory stridor and listening for but not hearing any evidence of fluid overload. Careful not to lean too heavily on her, I stay still until the bag is empty.

A hand winds into my hair, scratching slowly and delightfully over my scalp. "You know, if you wanted to cop a feel of my boobs, you could have just asked."

Turning my head, I press a kiss to the center of her palm, nibbling lightly at the fleshy mound at the base of her thumb. Straightening up, I remove the butterfly and place a pressure bandage over the venipuncture site, smiling down at her as I discard my gloves. "You look like you're feeling better."

"Way. I may actually live." Color flushes her cheeks. Her eyes are bright and fully open at last. "Thanks, babe."

"Of course, chérie." Sliding into bed next to her, I hold her close, loving the simple contact of her body against mine.

A small frown tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Wait, you said people would be here in less than an hour. Shouldn't we, um, be getting ready for them? Like, cooking or something?"

"Don't worry, everything's taken care of."

"What? I mean, you're a fucking amazing cook but even you couldn't pull together brunch for twenty-and-possibly-more at the last minute on Christmas morning."

"I didn't have to. The cleaning service was in earlier this morning and the caterers should be here at any minute. I left explicit instructions for them as well as a guest list with the concierge, so we don't even need to leave the bedroom unless we want to."

Quiet for a while, she nuzzles against my throat. "Will there be waffles?" she asks hopefully.

"Sweet potato waffles. Also eggs Benedict, omelettes, croissants — all your favorites."

"Holy shit. You really do think of everything."

She tries to kiss me but I stop her with a finger against her lips. "Ah, ah, ah. Not until you brush your teeth. I love you, Cosima, but right now your breath smells and probably tastes like a distillery. A condemned one."

Sniffing under her arm, she makes a face. "Not the only thing that reeks. Sorry, babe."

I laugh at her expression. The distant sounds of clashing metal and clinking dishes catches my attention. "They're here. Why don't you go clean up while I make sure they have what they need? I'll be right back."

"K. Take your time. I have to pee like a racehorse, and I really need to take a shower."

Leaving Cosima to totter off to the bathroom, I pull on my dressing gown and go down the hall. In the living room and entranceway the catering team are swarming around setting up tables and equipment, working quickly and efficiently and obviously needing no prompting or supervision. At one station stands a pretty young redheaded woman in a black apron discreetly printed with the company's logo over a sleeveless black dress, showing off intricate tattoos nearly covering both of her nicely toned arms. She is busily making waffles, a half-sheet pan almost full of finished ones waiting ready to go into a warming oven. As I approach, she looks up at me with a smile. "Dr. Cormier?"

"Yes. Those smell wonderful."

White teeth flash in a friendly grin. "Hope they taste even better. Here, try one while it's fresh." Picking up a just-cooked waffle out of the iron with a pair of tongs, she sets it on a plate and points out the array of accompaniments. "Nutella ganache, maple syrup, frozen bananas, berry-rhubarb compote and smoked Chantilly cream."

My stomach growls in response. I try a bite with a drizzle of the ganache and a dab of Chantilly cream and nearly swoon. "Oh, wow." Perfectly crisp on the outside, meltingly tender on the inside, the earthy sweetness of the waffle mingles beautifully with the chocolate and hazelnut and the faintly bittersweet smokiness of the cream. "Could I have another one on a separate plate? Otherwise my girlfriend is going to steal the rest of this."

One eyebrow flickers reflexively in surprise but the woman is a pro and in less than a minute I have another fresh waffle, ramekins of butter, cream, ganache and warm maple syrup and a selection of condiments on a tray. I stop by the omelette station for a couple rashers of thickly sliced bacon and then the coffee station to fill two big cups, taking a detour to the kitchen to add a large slug of heavy cream to Cosima's before going back to the bedroom.

I hear the hiss of the shower. No singing, though — evidently she is still feeling a little fragile. Setting down the tray on a small table in the sitting area, I open all the blinds and then relax into an armchair. Remembering our impending invasion of guests, I reach for my phone and scroll through our various playlists, finally setting it to completely random selection. As it happens, the first piece is from Kasarova's recording of "Orfeo ed Euridice"; her dusky lower register intensely conveys longing and loss as she sings "Che farò senza Euridice" over the sound system while I sip my coffee and slowly savor bites of my bacon and waffle.

The scent of her shower gel and a waft of steam precede her return. She caresses my cheek, turning my head so she can bend to capture my mouth in a long kiss that starts out gently undemanding but steadily increases in intensity until my breath suddenly seems far away. "Hello, you."

Smiling against her lips, panting lightly, I slip a hand beneath the thick fleece of her robe, resting it on the flat of her belly. "Hello, yourself."

"You taste amazing."

"You taste of nothing but cinnamon and cloves, thank goodness. Do you feel well enough to eat something?"

Cosima flops into the other armchair, eagerly inspecting her plate. "Oh, fuck yeah." Smearing butter over her waffle, making sure to get some into every crevice, she cuts off a piece with her fork and dips it into the syrup, then pops it into her mouth. "Holy shit, that's good." Hungrily she devours the rest, trying different combinations of the accompaniments and finally scraping every bit of Chantilly cream and ganache out of their ramekins with her finger.

I swat away her fork when she stealthily reaches it toward the last bite of my waffle. "There is actually more food out there, chérie," I say wryly, spearing the piece and eating it to forestall theft.

"Yes," she says, hopping up to perch sideways on my lap, one slender arm wrapping around my neck, "but it's out there, and we're in here, and if we were out there I couldn't do this." Kissing me deeply, her free hand slides down to the tie of my gown, deftly loosening it so that the heavy silk falls open. With her fingers she traces a slow, meandering trek over my upper chest, approaching but not quite touching my breasts. I feel my nipples tightening at her touch in the cool air.

Untying her robe as well, I slide my hand beneath the edge of the thick fabric, stroking the silky inside of her smoothly well defined thigh. "An excellent point." Her current position places her own breasts in advantageous proximity to my mouth. I break our kiss and capture a springing nipple between my teeth, licking and biting at it until she arches toward me with a soft moan. Diligently I pay loving attention to her other breast as well, going back and forth until the tender flesh is flushed pink and marked all over with scarlet half-moons.

My lips once again finding hers, my tongue delicately traces their shape until they part. Slipping between them, my tongue dances lazily with hers. Her hands tangle in my hair, urging our mouths together more intensely. Almost unnoticed, my hand at her thigh moves higher, to tease at the dampening silky curls covering her mound. Instantly her hips begin to undulate, seeking more than my elusive touch and lurching when my fingers explore more deeply.

Dipping into her cunt, I paint her distending folds with her wetness, enjoying her involuntary movements and deliberately avoiding her clit even though she not so subtly pulses her sex toward my hand. Instead I touch her lightly and teasingly, circling the impatient little swell and timing my movements to the motion of her hips. I glide a finger along either side of her clit, pressing and retreating until she breathes out on a shuddering moan. "Please... "

Immediately my middle finger finds the thrumming center of her pleasure, sending a jolt through her body. With careful teeth I bite down gently over the pulse point in her neck, making her groan. Fucking her ever-swelling clit between my index and ring fingers, I dance my middle finger over the straining little shaft, circling, flicking, pumping it from side to side. Just before she can ride the rhythm to release, I break away. Her frustrated whine segues into a moan as I slide two fingers inside her incredibly hot, wet cunt. Beckoning and sweeping my fingers within her helplessly grasping channel, she squeals when I ply my thumb over her abandoned clit, slithering over around across the bursting little nub until she shudders slowly and deeply, twitching uncontrollably for minutes on end and finally quivering in my embrace, her small body heavy and liquid against mine.

With a quiet sigh, I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of her come, the traces of her shower gel, the sharp tang of clean sweat. I am unbelievably aroused by the gyrations of her buttocks against my sex but for now I am content to hold her, feeling the wet clasp of her cunt around my fingers.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, I smile against satiny skin. "Merry Christmas, Cosima."

We are startled by a booming pounding on the door. "Oi, geek monkeys! Do you two _ever_ stop shagging? If you don't get your arses out here soon, me and Fee are going to eat all the waffles and cream puffs."

"Sounds like quite a party out there," I say after a while when there are no further interruptions, listening as the rasping of her breath gradually deepens and slows.

"Yeah, well, I prefer the party in here. But I guess we should make an appearance since we're hosting and all. Besides, those assholes are probably getting my spider drunk on bloody Marys." Tipping up her head to kiss me, she smiles against my lips. "Shit, Dr. Cormier. Last minute catering job on Christmas morning? I almost hate to ask how much that cost you to set up."

I nip at the tip of her nose. "Not a penny."

She pulls back, frowning. "Someone owe you like a huge favor or something?"

"In a way, yes."

Up goes one sculpted eyebrow. "Anything I should know about?"

I kiss the eyebrow at the peak of its arch. "I didn't pay for it, you did. I used your credit card when I made the booking."

The parade of expressions flitting across her face is comical. "Let me guess. I paid for the cleaners, too." I nod. "With, like, a ludicrous gratuity for both of them." I nod again. "Okay, okay, I guess I deserved that. But as soon as we get rid of everybody, I reserve the right to open and eat out my favorite present under the tree."

An involuntary shiver works its way through my body. "I can think of no better way to celebrate the holiday, chérie."

* * *

 _To be continued... after all, it's Christmas and it wouldn't be fair to leave you guys (not to mention poor Delphine) hanging... ;)_


	10. I've Got Your Sugar, part 2

**I've Got Your Sugar if You'll Show Me Your Spice, part 2**

They're doing it on purpose, I just know it. Fuckers.

In a way, I guess I should be glad that Sarah and Felix are finally unclenching enough to take the piss out of Delphine instead of just sniping at her. Or worse, being super polite, which always makes them look like they're chewing aluminum foil — for not being actually related by blood, their expressions are sometimes weirdly identical. But damn, I wish they had picked a better time.

The caterers packed up and left hours ago, as did most of our other guests. Even Scott, who usually lingers until we literally shove him out the door, picked up on the GTFO vibes; probably didn't hurt that we sent most of the leftovers home with him so he can have an epic gaming night with his friends. Sarah and Felix are the only ones still left. They've parked themselves deep into the cushions on either end of the big sofa and show no sign that they're planning to budge any time soon. Whenever the level in their bloody Marys drops below whatever Fee deems acceptable, he slops more into their glasses from the pitcher set close by on his end table. Damned good thing the fabric is treated with some kind of industrial-strength stain blocker, though amazingly he hasn't spilled anything yet. They've got a big platter piled with an assortment of cream puffs, bagels, latkes and sticky buns resting on a pillow between them. Fortunately the food is good enough that they're actually eating it instead of flinging it at each other like demented preadolescent monkeys.

At least they haven't rooted through the presents under the tree. Among other things I got her, somewhere in the pile of boxes and bags are candles and 30-meter lengths of oil-treated hemp rope from The Twisted Monk, a case of lube and a sculpted stainless steel dildo whose head is so thick I can barely get my hand around it. If Sarah and Fee found that shit, I'd never hear the end of it. And then they'd want a demonstration. Probably hold up scorecards and analyze my technique the whole time, too.

I'm trying not to look at Delphine, because if I do I'm going to wind up fucking her across the coffee table, guests be damned. Even out of the corner of my eye, I can tell she's squirming in her chair. Like all the furniture in her flat, it's nice and overstuffed and firmly squashy, and I know exactly what sitting in her current position is doing to her. It's like my skin is sensitized and hyperaware of every molecule of air that separates us. Every time she shifts in her seat, or bites her lip, or inadvertently allows a lull in the conversation because she's suddenly distracted, I can feel it like an electric jolt straight to my cunt.

Somehow she manages to carry on a coherent conversation with Sarah, something incomprehensible about soccer — sorry, _football,_ excusez moi very much to the Europeans — which she seems to be surprisingly knowledgeable about. Though really, by this time I should probably stop being surprised by the things I learn about her. Still waters and all that. But I can see the tension in her body language, feel her eyes seeking me out. I have to admit that I am not above being just a little smug about getting back at her for making fun of my hangover this morning.

Not that I wasn't grateful for her taking care of me, what with the fluids and meds and then _taking care_ of me. I can still feel her hands on me, inside me. God, she has the most incredible hands... Shit, stop thinking about it, Niehaus, or else you're going to disgrace yourself and come in your pants like some dumbass teenaged boy.

I can't help it, though. I've never been with anyone who's so nakedly _hungry_ for me, like, all the time, just as intensely as I am for her. Even when she puts on that reserved, oh-so-polite front, like she's doing now, I can see the seismic temblors just beneath the surface and feel the echoes rippling through my own body. She hasn't even touched me in hours and I'm still a dripping, throbbing mess.

"... with Messi on the right wing and Neymar attacking from the left isolating defenders out wide, Barcelona will be all but unstoppable."

"Bugger Messi and Neymar!" says Sarah, gesturing wildly with her three-quarters-full glass. I hold my breath but the contents stay put. Thank you, surface tension and centrifugal force. Holding the glass out toward Felix and jiggling it, she waits for him to top it off before continuing. "Bring it on, Arsenal can take 'em."

"Their 1-4-2 record against Barca says otherwise."

Felix gives Delphine a piercing look. "Cosima, are you finding this as deadly as I am?" he drawls, popping another cream puff whole into his mouth. "The only thing remotely appealing about football is the players. Abs and legs for days, and bums you can bounce a ten dollar coin off of. I once picked up this lovely boy who played for West Ham. Took him out back in the alley behind Bobby's. He had the _tightest_ little — "

"And that's all we need to hear about _that_ ," says Sarah, who is blushing like crazy. I try not to giggle, but it never ceases to amuse me that tough-as-nails hardcore punker no-fucks-to-give Sarah Manning can be a total prude about some things. Especially when it comes to her brother's sex life.

"No, really, I practically needed a pry bar and an economy sized vat of Elbow Grease to — "

"Time we hit the road." Sarah drains the rest of her glass and manages to heave herself to her feet. "C'mon, Fee, drink up. S'll be expecting us for presents and tea."

Neither of us makes a peep to dissuade them. Felix follows Sarah's example, though much more gracefully. "Ladies and Sarah, it's been purely a pleasure. Thank you for having us."

I don't think it's my imagination that he emphasizes the word "having." He air-kisses both of us on the cheeks before shepherding a more than slightly tipsy Sarah down the hall to the elevator, and finally, _finally_ we are alone.

Delphine looks a little frazzled. "I've never really thought of Felix as being diplomatic, but that was surprisingly subtle and kind of him."

"He's a sweetie underneath. Just gotta get past the fangs and claws. He's like super loyal and protective once he's decided he's got your back." Hitching myself out of the loveseat, I stalk over to her armchair, bracing my elbows on the padded back so I can kiss her roughly. "But right now Felix is kinda the last thing I want to think about."

Sliding her ass forward until it's hanging just off the edge of the chair, I yank her pants down to her ankles. No underwear. The sight and sharp rich scent of her already soaking wet cunt instantly make my mouth water. I swallow hard. "Why, Dr. Cormier, I do believe you like me."

"Don't tease, chérie. I need you, now!"

I pull her pants off the rest of the way and toss them across the floor. Kneeling between her legs, I use my elbows and shoulders to spread them apart. Hooking my fingers through the oblong loop at the base of the thick curved metal plug in her ass and giving it a tweak, I nearly lose it when she moans. Wanton, that's the only word to describe the way she looks and sounds and moves. Fucking glorious.

Shit, I need to taste her. She lunges hungrily into my mouth in the same instant that I pull at the plug, tugging and twisting it against the spasming clenching of her ring and making her grind her crotch into my face. As fabulous as the food from the caterers was, nothing they served can compare to the sweet complexity of Delphine's pussy.

She slides farther down, raising her arms to grab hold of the back of her chair for support. The lower half of my face is drenched in her come. Her entire body is quivering and she's already close, so close.

With my tongue I work her clit back and forth. It's so swollen it looks like a perfectly ripe berry. I worry at it with my teeth just to see what kind of noises I can get her to make. Strangled groans punctuate the chorus of high-pitched whimpers with every thrust and rock of her pelvis into my mouth. I steal my hand down into her, slipping two and then three fingers easily inside her incredibly hot wet cunt. Twisting them within her, I'm intrigued by the curious sensation of bumping against the hard weight of the plug separated only by a thin rippling wall. Plunging my fingers in as far as they can reach, I curl them around the plug and rock it firmly, in effect fucking her in both her cunt and her ass with every sweep and thrust of my hand.

Her response is immediate and awe-inspiring. It takes every bit of my strength to keep her from bucking me halfway across the room. Her thighs slap against my ears. For just a second I regret not having taken off my glasses because they're fogging over and probably getting bent to hell but right now all I care about is making my girl come so hard her consciousness is going to, like, visit the logoic plane. Which she does a minute later, screaming and swearing in languages I can't even name with her beautiful face distorted into a ferocious snarl and her hips jerking wildly out of control, leaping toward my mouth and writhing around my fingers.

She's panting raggedly like she's just run a set of suicide sprints in heels. Her hair is dark with sweat and her body is still shuddering. Reaching out a shaking hand, she cups my cheek. "Cosima."

I kiss the bend of her wrist. "Yeah, babe?"

"I want more of you. Inside me."

Instantly I grin like an idiot. I fucking love that she's insatiable. Once you get that train going, man... "You got it. Right back, 'kay?" She nods. I can never decide what color her eyes actually are, but right now they're almost totally black because her pupils are huge. I slip my fingers free and kiss her softly. Scrambling upright, I practically sprint to the bedroom.

Taking a moment to check myself out in the full-length mirror in the closet, I think for the umpteenth time that one of these days I'm going to have her fitted for a custom harness of her own. The thought of watching her go through that process sends a rush of heat to my cunt and I nearly come when I settle the heavy base of my cock against my clit and snug down the soft leather straps around my hips and thighs. I give my cock a squeeze and a couple of slow pumps. "You know what the difference is between you and me? I make this look _goooood,_ " I tell my reflection. Hey, card-carrying dork here, I can quote Agent J if I want to.

Back in the living room I almost come again at the sight of her. "Fuck me," I say reflexively under my breath, licking my lips. Delphine's stretched out naked on the rug beside the Christmas tree, rubbing at her clit with slow circles of her come-slick fingers. Even in the dim light from the little bulbs, I can still make out the constellation of freckles on her belly, which I instantly want to kiss.

"Is that an invitation or a promise?"

"Either. Both. Yes." Moving to kneel between her wide-spread legs, I have no trouble finding her entrance with the head of my cock. I watch as her fingers strum her clit while I sink into her hungry cunt. She moans deep in her chest as I fill her, wrapping her legs around me to pull me even deeper.

"I need you!"

The raw hoarse whisper hangs in the air and I have no idea whose lips the words fall from. Pulling her hand away from her clit, I grab her wrists and pin them to the floor on either side of her head, raising up on my arms to tilt most of my weight toward my hips and making her moan again. Shuddering at the beckoning of her body, I begin circling and thrusting slowly, making her feel every inch of my cock as it muscles aside any resistance from the plug in her ass.

I grind against her clit at the deepest part of every stroke. The room echoes with wet lapping sounds every time I plow back into her. Her legs crush me into her with a vise grip. Blunt nails claw ragged streaks down my back, spurring me to shovel myself into her even harder. The whimpers she can't suppress warn me that the hammer of my cock against the anvil of the plug is probably starting to take its toll but we're both too far gone to worry about that right now. Grunting with each thrust, reveling in every helpless twist and arch of her body, I feel the first convulsions wracking her and redouble the force of my hips. Sweat pools at the small of my back as I feel my own clit swell to bursting as I empty myself into her again and again until I collapse gasping atop her.

My last conscious thought before I fall asleep in her arms is that we will destroy ourselves before I stop wanting her.

* * *

 _Happy holidays to all! I'll be scarce for the next week or so but rest assured, the smut will recommence shortly after the beginning of the year. :)_


	11. Light My Fire

**Light My Fire**

She's up to something.

First of all, she's taking a personal day, which I've known her to do only exactly once before. I mean, yeah, there isn't a whole lot going on at work in the week between Christmas and New Year's, but still it's not like her to stay at home for no particular reason. Even when she had a bout of blowout gastroenteritis from eating bad fish at that cutty as fuck sushi place on Bloor that Felix dragged us to, she still went in to work the next day. Green and dead pale, but she went in. Delphine Cormier is the A student's A student and she just doesn't ditch.

I thought about bailing for the day too and said so, but then she went quiet and really still and got that closed down look on her face. She's usually so animated and demonstrative with me that that non-expression says way more than she means to.

So I head off to the lab. Even though there's really no reason for me to be there right now — we're kind of in limbo between experiments in our research, and Scott has most of the processes and cell cultures and stuff like that running pretty much on autopilot. Dicking around on my computer and getting in some revisions on my diss normally isn't a bad way to kill time, but half my mind is occupied with wondering what Delphine has planned. The longer the morning goes on without a call or text from her, the more curious I get and the more elaborate the images and scenarios in my head become. I'm especially enamored of the one where she's poured into a latex minidress and thigh-high boots and brandishing her riding crop. Rawr.

After taking a ridiculously long lunch at my favorite little Ethiopian restaurant on Queen West, I stop by a tobacconist on my way back to the lab and pick up a pack of mango flavored White Owls. Blunts aren't usually my thing, but this latest batch of Girl Scout Cookies is massively dank and deserves to be appreciated in a nice smooth slow-burning fat one. The combination tastes awesome and gives me an energetic head high that makes me really chatty, goofy and elated. 11/10 would recommend.

I spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying my buzz and shooting the shit with Scott and a couple of his newest gaming buddies until I can't stand it any longer. Declining an invitation to kick their asses in Lords of Waterdeep, I leave the guys to it and text Delphine to let her know I'm on the way home. I walk slowly, delaying my gradual come-down. Even though the skies are dirty gray and it's cold and damp and looks like it's going to snow yet again, I'm still in an amazingly up mood by the time I get to her flat.

She's there waiting for me when the elevator opens. With all the anticipation, I'm almost — _almost_ — disappointed to see that she's bumming it in one of her ancient hole-y super comfy sweaters and a pair of jeans so soft and faded the denim looks like it's painted onto every curve of her legs. But that lasts for approximately a picosecond because shit, let's face it, she could wear, like, a granny nightgown out of that bama Vermont Country Store catalogue and make it look more erotic than anything from Frederick's of Hollywood. Wrapping me in a full-contact hug, she kisses me so deeply and thoroughly that I'm dizzy and panting by the time she breaks away. She rubs our noses together and rests her forehead against mine with a smile. "Hello, chérie."

I didn't even notice when she'd slid off my coat and scarf, but the heat and the feel of her body pressed up against mine are delicious. I tighten my arms around her waist so I can hold her even closer. Maybe if I squeeze hard enough, I can get inside her skin. "Hello, yourself." I kiss her again, softly. "Mm. You smell like laundry."

Her stomach muscles jerk and quiver, like she can barely keep from laughing. "That hardly sounds alluring."

"No, it totally is." I tuck my head against her neck, nibbling at her throat and breathing in deeply. Tide, original scent. Accept no substitutes. "It's, like, a really nice happy comforting smell. It always makes me think about rolling around naked on clean sheets that are still warm because we've put them on the bed straight out of the dryer. And then that makes me think of fucking like bunnies for hours to get them all sweaty and messy again."

"You have a point." She's giggling outright now. I love that sound, that musical rippling that erupts in between little snorts and gasps when she can't stop herself from cracking up at something I've said. Fingers under my chin tilt my face up so she can kiss me again, then she gives me another smile. "Come with me."

My heart starts pounding as she takes me by the hand and leads me to the bedroom. Wandering around, I inspect her preparations. There's a sheet spread over the whole top of the bed. It's brand new, coarse and plain white and nowhere near the same league as her Pratesi linens. The teak bench from her shower rests next to the bed; lined up on its surface are a bottle of almond oil, a large bowl of ice, a pile of wet washcloths in a plastic tub, a small crockpot, a digital thermometer and what must be the world's tiniest, cutest fire extinguisher. And on the nightstand are the candles I got her for Christmas, the low melt-point paraffin ones that come in little square porcelain containers which have a pouring spout built into one corner.

Delphine is the ultimate Detail Girl, just one of the things about her that get me so unbelievably hot. "Jesus, Dr. Cormier. You really do think of everything."

"I wanted it all to be just right. This is new for me, you know." She bends to kiss me, her tongue delicately tracing the shape of my lips. Immediately I open to her, letting my tongue dance lazily with hers. Reaching up to wind one hand into her hair, I pull her toward me more insistently but she gentles her mouth on mine. "Are you hungry? Do you need to take care of anything first?"

Smiling into her amazing eyes, watching those hundreds of colors shift and play in her irises, I let my free hand slide down her arm and interlace our fingers together. "Not hungry, but I do need to pee and I want to take a quick shower. Back in a few, babe, 'kay?"

She lifts my hand to kiss the palm, lingering so I can feel the outline of her mouth, the warmth of her breath. "Take your time, cherie. We have all night."

"Good looks."

"Fasho."

I grin like an idiot. Bay Area slang coming out of a gorgeous French girl's mouth is hella cute. Coming out of _my_ gorgeous French girl's mouth? Sheer hotness.

When I finish up in record time and return to the bedroom, she's nowhere to be seen. The lights have been dimmed and she's lit candles all over the place, the unscented beeswax pillars she prefers. Everything else is the same, except for the black satin blindfold waiting on the nightstand. "Ooohh, Dr. Cormier," I say out loud in my best "Hello, Nurse!" voice. But my genie doesn't materialize, so I shrug and go over to sit on the bed. The sheet crackles and scrunches underneath me. I lift up the edge and discover that it's covering a plastic shower curtain. Detail Girl strikes again. Setting my glasses aside, I slip the silk-lined padded blindfold into place over my eyes and adjust the tension on the elastic band so it doesn't tug at my hair, then lie down and get comfortable.

I don't have to wait long. Footsteps and a shift in the air currents playing over my skin tell me she's back, accompanied by the irresistible smell of butter and browned cheese. "Dude, did you make — "

"Shhhhh."

Something warm touches my lips. I open my mouth to take in the incredibly light but rich little puff. The crisp-tender pastry shell disintegrates at the barest touch of my teeth and practically dissolves on my tongue, leaving behind a slick of butter and the creamy, nutty, faintly fruity aftertaste of melted Gruyère. "Holy shit, that's good."

"No talking." A feather-light kiss lands briefly, then flutters away.

"If that's supposed to discourage me from talking, you're really going about it the wrong — "

Her fingertip presses against my lips. "If you keep talking, Cosima, you won't get any more gougères."

I shut up.

"That's better." She feeds me another cheesy poof. I eat it slowly to savor every nuance of its flavor and say nothing. Operant conditioning at its finest.

Music starts playing softly over the sound system. I immediately recognize Kaskade and Deadmau5's "Move for Me." And then warm oil pours over my chest and something short-circuits in my brain. With my eyes covered, it's easy to lose myself in the sensation of her hands spreading the oil with long slow strokes over my breasts and upper chest, then down my arms and legs. Starting with my feet, Delphine rubs and kneads until every bit of exposed skin is slick with oil and every muscle she touches is liquid. To say nothing of the flood from my cunt. Between her hands and the vestiges of the high from the weed I'd smoked earlier, I'm so relaxed it's probably illegal in half the States and at least a couple provinces.

A scratching sound and then the sharp sulfurous scent of a match puts my senses on alert. I hear the beep of the thermometer, then a quick sharp intake of breath; pretty sure that means she's testing the wax on her arm. My heart beats faster. The bed dips as she kneels beside me.

Not knowing where she's going to start gets my adrenaline pumping. For just an instant I regret not asking her to tie me up, then something lands on one of my nipples, trailing down the side of my breast. I jump and nearly scream until I realize it's actually a drip from an ice cube. Shit! She's got me so wound up, all my wires are like totally crossed right now. Sneaky minx.

The first pour of hot wax licks over my belly. It's not painful, exactly, just really intense and concentrated where the wax runs down following the curve of my ribcage and then slowly hardens. Drops and streams land unpredictably, sometimes hotter, sometimes cooler, the varying degrees of heat telling me that she's holding the candle at different heights. She might be new to this, but she always seems to know how much I can handle and never even comes close to causing a burn, never pours wax on top of wax until the previous layer has cooled. Knowing that she's watching my reactions so intently gets me wet and pulsing and I can't help grinding my hips and rubbing my thighs together. I start to slide a hand between my legs but it's stopped by an iron grip on my wrist. "Ah, ah, ah," she says, dripping ice water over my clit and making me shriek.

Fuck. She's so goddamned hot when she takes charge.

After what seems like hours, I am almost drunk with the exquisite agony of pain that is indistinguishable from pleasure as melted wax finally drizzles over my breasts in figure 8s and circles. Sucking in a breath when she reaches my nipples, the blaze of heat makes them throb beneath their coating of cooling wax.

Vaguely I register the clink of porcelain as she sets the candle aside and sits back on her heels for a moment. Admiring her handiwork, I hope.

Fingers glide over my belly to one side. I feel her pry up an edge of the wax lattice, then slowly peel it off. It comes away easily thanks to the oil she'd coated me with. Wherever the wax had landed, I am unbelievably, intensely sensitive underneath, which she immediately discovers and exploits by exploring the abstract patterns emblazoned into my skin with the slightest brushes of her nails or fingertips or tongue. Before long I'm writhing, flying on endorphins. By the time she has removed every bit of wax, I am panting and sweating. "Delphine!"

"Yes, Cosima?" I can hear the smile in her voice. Her hands slide up to cup my breasts, making my breath hiss through my teeth as she traps my nipples between her fingers and works them to achingly hard points.

Trying not to whimper, I arch into her touch. "I need... " My voice trails off into a strangled gasp when she draws one nipple into her mouth, licking and swirling. She lets go with a pop, then homes in on the other one.

"What do you need, chérie?" Teeth edge me back and forth over the line of pain.

"Babe, I need you to fuck me!"

Instantly she abandons my breasts and kisses her way downward, deliberately trailing her hair over my skin. Without hesitation she sinks her fingers into my cunt at the same time she latches on to my clit, sucking hard and working it on either side with her tongue. Tightening around her, I am barely able to breathe as the tension in my body ratchets higher and higher until in no time at all I go rigid, suspended motionless for an endless moment, then break with a harsh scream as shuddering waves crash through me again and again. My cunt crushes her fingers and my hips jerk into her mouth with every convulsion until I am sobbing for breath and clinging to her, my hands snarled into the silky curls of her incredible hair.

Shivering, I feel her rest her head on my thigh. Her breath plays over the sopping mess of my cunt, which is still squelching around her fingers. "Holy fucking goddamned _shit_ , Dr. Cormier."

Butterflying a kiss at the top of my mound, she frees her hand, then scoots up to hold me while I twitch and quiver helplessly. She removes my blindfold, but I keep my eyes shut, not wanting to break the spell woven by my almost hypnotic state of overwhelming sensation. Every nerve ending in my body is alive and singing. Soft lips press against my temple; fingers trace delicate designs over my back. My few functioning brain cells manage to kludge together the thought that I have never felt so cared for and so safe and so absolutely _right_ as I do at this moment.

"Are you all right, chérie?"

"Get you a girl who can do both," I mumble incoherently into her neck before I drift off to sleep.


	12. Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

**Scenes from an Italian Restaurant**

"I think this will do nicely."

I pull a total _Baroo?_ on her. The place is deserted in the middle of the afternoon despite heavy shopping traffic outside. The decor could win awards for Featuring Every Italian Restaurant Cliché Possible: red and white checkered tablecloths, candles stuck into empty Chianti bottles with stalactites of wax dribbling down their necks, framed posters hanging on the walls of random sites in Rome and Florence, even that damned earworm "Tarantella Napolitana" blaring over the sound system. A bored server is leaning over the bar chatting with the equally bored bartender; neither of them bothers to glance at us as we stand hovering in the doorway. Most of the glasses hanging upside down from the ceiling rack are dusty. Not good signs. "Um. Dude. I know there isn't a whole lot of choice for decent restaurants in this area but if we walk just a few blocks over we could go to — "

She kisses me. Any other objections that I could have brought up instantly evaporate.

The sound of a throat clearing finally filters through to my attention. Opening my eyes, I break off our kiss and blink at the server. Delphine straightens up and smiles serenely. I'm distracted by the sight of her lower lip, which is nicely reddened and slightly swollen where I had nibbled at it.

"Right this way, ladies," says the server, starting to lead us to a table by the window.

"Could we sit in a booth instead?" Pulling off her coat and draping it over her arm, Delphine tilts her chin to indicate the row of seating in the back section, where the lighting is a lot dimmer.

The server's mouth tightens into a straight line that I guess is supposed to pass for a smile. "Of course."

Delphine gestures for me to follow, but I hang back a little. "Go ahead, babe. I want to watch you walk," I murmur.

Something sparks in her eyes. She kisses me again, then turns on the heel of her boot and — there is no other word for the way she moves — _swaggers_ toward the booth where the server is practically tapping her foot waiting for us.

My gaze is riveted to the glorious perfection of Delphine's ass. Her ass, which is lovingly embraced in skintight black leather that clings to and moves with every curve and line of her hips and long legs as though it had been poured over them. _Felix, you were **so** right about that tailor_. _I owe you big time, little bro_...

"Cosima?"

I shake my head, like a dog when it gets out of a lake. Quickly I go to the booth and scooch over so that I'm sitting next to her in the middle of the curved banquette, facing the room. Her thigh is incredibly warm against mine.

"Can I bring you ladies anything to drink?"

"Water and a bottle of Prosecco. Spumante." At the server's blank expression, she clarifies, "Sparkling," then gives me the eyebrow. I shrug. Like I would have any better suggestions.

As soon as the server trudges off, I move my hand to Delphine's knee and rub it in slow circles, enjoying the feeling as her muscles shift beneath the buttery soft material. "These are so fucking hot on you," I say, leaning over to kiss her again.

She smiles against my lips. "I have to admit I had reservations when you first suggested them, especially the, euh, nature of the alterations. But," she moves my hand upward to close around her massive hard-on, which is accommodated and neatly concealed by the tailor's skills, "I'm beginning to see the appeal."

My fingers grip the shaft and grind the base against her mound, making her grunt and squirm. Only fair since I've been a dripping mess all day, watching every step of the elaborate fitting process. "Since when do you dress right?" I tease, settling into a rhythm that sets her hips rocking.

Teeth nip at my nose before she claims my mouth again. "Since you insisted that I wear this ridiculous underwear. That's the side the opening is on — "

"Boxer briefs are not ridiculous, especially when they're seamless. If you wore your regular panties or thongs, not only would you have enough chafing in there to light a campfire, you'd also wind up with a major VPL. Which would be a serious crime in those pants."

I can see her silently mulling that one over. Betcha anything she's making a mental note to ask Siri what the hell it means as soon as I'm out of earshot. I'm onto her game.

Glasses and our bottle of wine thunk down onto the table forcibly enough that some of the water slops over the rims. "Have you ladies had a chance to check out the menu?" asks our server a little pointedly.

"We need a few more minutes, please" says Delphine, politely but with a don't-fuck-with-me edge to her voice. So smooth, my Dr. Cormier.

She pours for both of us. We flip through the oversized, sticky and pointlessly long and complicated menu, ignoring the grease spotted printed inserts touting the day's "specials." "Guess I'll go with a salad," I say dubiously. "Not like they could mess that up too badly, right?"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she says, leaning over to kiss me again. Her mouth is so sweet; with my tongue I chase down every trace of the fruity, floral flavors and light fizziness of our wine.

Suddenly an incredibly vivid image pops into my head.

"Cosima."

"Yes, Delphine?"

"Why do you have that Grinch look on your face?"

"Grinch look?"

"You know, the one when he has his wonderful, awful idea."

One of the many benefits of expanding her exposure to pop culture is that I never know when she's going to bust out with something absolutely fucking hilariously awesome like that. I look around. The place is still deserted. Our server is nowhere to be seen. The bartender is glued to something on his phone, facing away from us. Probably porn, if I had to guess. Any minute now and he's going to start jacking off into the dump sink.

I reach for her zipper and yank it down, slipping my hand through the keyhole opening of her undershorts. Her cock is thick and heavy, warm from the heat of her body. Carefully, making sure to stretch the leather as little as possible, I ease it out and squeeze and slowly pump its length.

Her hips slide lower of their own accord, her pants scrunching against the vinyl of the booth. "You. Are. Incorrigible," she says, shaking her head in mock sorrow. Teeth catch her lower lip as she watches my hand.

"Yeah, and you wouldn't have me any other way." Checking around one more time, I kiss her, then slink underneath the table.

A hand reaches out to caress my cheek as I lean in to nuzzle the inseam along the length of her thigh. Greedily I inhale the scent of warm leather mingling with the tantalizing hint of her that gets stronger the closer I move toward her center. My cunt has been thrumming at a steady simmer ever since we arrived at the tailor's this morning but now it threatens to burst into a rolling boil. I briefly regret not having worn a dress or a skirt, though given the state of the floor I'm kneeling on, that might actually be a good thing.

Popping my head up just long enough to snag my wine glass, I settle between her legs, using my elbows to spread them apart. Slowly I pour my Prosecco over her cock, bathing it in shining faintly sparkling liquid. Some of it soaks into her harness and the lining of her pants, but most of it runs beneath into the depths of her folds. With my tongue and lips I lick suck probe swirl, greedily seeking out every drop of the heady mix of leather and wine and come that I can reach.

She groans quietly. The violent trembling of her hips tells me how hard it is for her to keep them still. "Do you recommend the vintage?" she manages to say, winding the fingers of one hand into my dreads. Her other hand scritches at the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck, making me shiver lightly.

Closing my eyes to better savor the complex explosion of tastes, I nip her on the inside of one thigh just hard enough to leave teeth marks on the seam. "Panel's still deliberating but the preliminary results are impressive. Rich creamy mouth-feel, luscious nose and incredibly long finish, too." I'm pretty sure I can hear her jaws grinding as I work my tongue beneath her harness to tease at the plump hard jut of her clit. "Oh, god, babe, you taste so fucking good," I say, panting, before diving back in.

"I'm very glad to hear it," she says, sounding a little strangled. Her hips start to jolt, pulsing her cock toward me in short jerky thrusts.

Sliding my hand back through her fly to coat it in her wetness, I flog her cock roughly, making sure to grind the base firmly against her clit with every stroke. In between the pistoning of my hand, I snake out my tongue to lap at the lavish flow soaking her swollen sex. Her hips flex desperately toward my mouth and she is gasping raggedly, trying but not quite managing to be quiet. Working two fingers of my other hand into the slippery heat of her cunt, curling and twisting them within her clutching walls, I feel her entire body go rigid, then her hips arch off the seat, juddering and flexing helplessly as she comes with a choking cry.

I stay with her, drawing out her spasms with my mouth and hands until she leans slumping forward with her elbows braced on the table. "Cosima," she whispers hoarsely, "get back up here, chérie."

Somehow I manage to tuck her cock back into place and then scramble to my feet. She wraps her arms around me and folds me into a kiss. Tiny eternities swirl by before we finally break away, foreheads resting together, sharing breath and air.

"Let's go home, babe."

She nods. Her beautiful face is flushed and the hair at her temples is darkened with sweat. The scent of her is intoxicating, far more so than the wine. The glint in her eye promises every kind of beautifully filthy retaliation her considerable imagination can come up with. I shudder with want and unslaked need.

Between us we have enough cash to cover our tab and leave an overly generous tip the server doesn't deserve. Legs still unsteady, we lean on each other on our way toward the exit. The bartender barely looks up from his phone. _Buddy, you ain't seen nothin' compared to my girl._

At the door we meet a couple perusing the menu posted behind a glass case. "I recommend the Prosecco," I tell them as we stumble up the stairs leading to the street.


	13. Slow Hand

**Slow Hand**

"Very well, Delphine. I'll leave you for a few minutes to let you get ready. Undress to your comfort level, then lie face down on the table with your arms by your sides. And please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Jana."

The tall blonde woman walks quietly out the bedroom door and closes it behind her. She's strongly muscled and tends toward the zaftig but carries it gracefully, moving like a large cat. It's silly but I can't help thinking that her faintly Germanic Swiss accent lends to her air of reassuring competence.

I glance around. Flames dance and flicker in the fireplace, warm and cheerful in the dimmed lamplight. Unobtrusive music plays over the sound system, weaving instrumental lines around the rhythmic hiss of waves and the calls of sea birds. A Himalayan salt lamp glows pinkish-orange on the floor beneath the portable massage table. The small reed diffuser sitting on my nightstand emits a subtle scent of lavender and vanilla. I don't subscribe to New Age-y practices or beliefs but I have to admit that its accoutrements provide a very pleasant, relaxing atmosphere.

Quickly I undress, folding my clothes and leaving them in a neat pile on the bed. The table is heated and remarkably comfortable; a fat bolster supports my ankles. Squirming around a bit until I can grab the edge of the covering sheet and draw it up over myself, I settle my face into the thickly padded cradle and let my arms fall slack. I sigh with anticipation. It's been far too long since I last had a massage, and Cosima's gift of an in-home session has come at a most welcome and necessary time.

There's a soft knock on the door. "Come in," I call, my voice muffled.

I hear the quiet tread of Jana's feet. "Ready?"

"Oh, yes."

A hand gently touches the middle of my back. With the sheet in place, the hand slowly travels all over my body. "You carry a great deal of tension in your neck, shoulders and buttocks, Delphine. I think you must work long hours sitting at your desk?"

Thinking about the mind-numbing weeks I have spent poring through Aldous' files on the Leda clones, I snort. "Far too many."

"And Ms. Niehaus said that your job is very stressful, yes?"

"Yes."

"You mentioned that you have had deep-tissue massage before. We'll start with effleurage, just very gentle strokes and circular motions to get your circulation going. Once you're warmed up, I'll employ much firmer and deeper pressure and perhaps trigger point therapy to break up the adhesions at your problem areas. There may be some discomfort but it shouldn't be painful. If you do experience pain, please tell me right away and I will adjust my technique."

"Okay."

The sheet skims down my back as she folds it past the upper part of my buttocks. Warm, delightfully fragrant coconut oil pours over my shoulders. The lovely sensation of strong hands spreading the oil over my entire back nearly makes me groan. The slow sureness of her movements is hypnotic. Very soon my mind is wonderfully empty and whatever awareness that manages to seep in around the edges of my consciousness focuses solely on her touch. I find I have no idea how much time has elapsed, nor do I care.

I feel her fold the sheet over to carefully expose my right buttock and leg. More warm oil pours over me. A sharp searing pain at the side of my hip jolts me hissingly awake. "I am so sorry, Delphine," says Jana, her tone heavy with genuine regret. Her hand at my back is comforting, calming and slowing my rabbiting pulse. "Your iliotibial band is incredibly tight. I will probably not be able to get it to release in this session, but after we are done today I can show you some stretches and core exercises that can help in the meantime."

"C'est pas grave," I mumble, already nearly asleep again as she resumes kneading my leg, careful to lighten her touch over the offending fascia. Soon she begins applying deeper pressure, working the point of her elbow and the length of her forearm over my "problem areas," sometimes alternating with cross grain friction or firm counterclockwise circular strokes of her knuckles. Slipping in and out of consciousness, I am distantly aware that there is indeed some discomfort when she leans in especially rigorously, but I am far too blissfully relaxed to mind.

A hand on my shoulder gently shakes me awake. "Delphine? It is time for you to turn over. Do you need assistance?"

"Nnnnggk." Ponderously, my limbs liquid and slow to obey, I manage to raise up on one elbow and flop over onto my back while Jana patiently holds the sheet just high enough above me to give me room to move.

She drapes the sheet into place, resettles the bolster under the bend of my knees, removes the face cradle and then shows me a purple eye mask. "This is imbued with essential oils that are very effective in relieving stress. They may help you to relax. Would you like to try it?"

If I relax any further, I will melt off the table. I nod anyway. The mask is cool and smooth and smells delightfully of lavender, jasmine and something sweetly floral. Jana moves to the end of the table, keeping a hand in contact with my body at all times. I groan reflexively when she rubs oil over one foot and firmly works her knuckles into the arch.

The next time I awaken, I gradually realize that my neck, shoulders and scalp are somewhat sore, but in a good way. My entire body, from my toes to my hair, is saturated with oil. And the covering sheet is gone. I am completely naked on the table.

I am still so profoundly transported that I cannot muster the energy to tense up.

Well oiled hands move over my upper chest, so lightly that my skin tingles with warmth wherever they pass. Slowly they skim up and down the length of my torso, passing over the contours of my ribs. When they move to cup and knead my breasts, though, a flicker of alarm brings me fully alert. My heart starts to beat faster. "Jana?"

"Yes, Delphine?"

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "I wasn't aware that it was going to be _that_ kind of massage."

The hands caress my nipples, which harden almost instantly. With some effort I refrain from arching into her touch. "Ms. Niehaus was quite specific in her instructions. She requested for you the full tantric experience, which involves extended stimulation of all the erotic zones, including the breasts, the yoni, the anus and the sacred spot. Frequently the session ends with the client experiencing multiple orgasms, though that should be considered part of the journey and not the destination. Shall we continue?"

My brain is still sluggish. On the one hand, this is definitely not something I was expecting. On the other hand... "Euh... yes?"

"Very good. I should also let you know that I am naked as well now. The purpose for my nudity is so that there is no hindrance to my transferring sensuality and loving energy to your body."

"O-okay."

Soft breasts press and glide against mine. I freeze, then start giggling helplessly. "Cosima!" Pushing the mask up over my eyes, I confirm my suspicion and swat her weakly on her behind. "You brat!"

She laughs, bracing on her elbows and leaning in to kiss me. Her dreads trail lightly over my chest and stomach, making me shiver. "Dammit, how did you know it was me? I thought I had Jana's accent down pretty good."

I smile up at her. "You did. But you're far more petite than she is and, shall we say, not quite as generously endowed. Besides, I can smell weed."

"Busted." She sticks out her tongue at me. "Son of a bitch. Had you going for a minute there, though, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. I was appalled and yet intrigued to realize that I was not exactly put off at the prospect. Especially because I thought that if it was something you wanted me to experience, I should just go with it. She's not really a tantric masseuse, though, is she?"

Dancing the fingers of one hand in delicate patterns around my breasts, Cosima shakes her head. "No, but she is a kick-ass RMT. Liz from Radiology recommended her. I've had a few sessions with her — the last time, she did a lot of diaphragm work, which _totally_ sucked, but it really helped with the soreness from my coughing. She's a hell of a lot more ethical than I am 'cause it took a shitload of convincing to get her to go along with my nefarious scheme." One corner of her mouth quirks. "You're not too pissed at me?"

"If I didn't feel so good right now, chérie, I might have been," I say wryly, reaching up to cup her cheek.

"A real tantric massage practitioner would have talked with you beforehand about what to expect, asked if you had any concerns, any history of sexual trauma or anxieties and so forth." Her fingers start to circle my nipples slowly. "You wanna give it a try?"

I play my thumb over the outline of her lips until she traps it playfully between her teeth, gnawing carefully before letting it go. "You've done it before?"

Cosima grins impishly. "Well, I've had it done to me. You don't grow up in San Fran without trying anything and everything." Bending her head, she feathers kisses along my throat. "Mmm. You taste like suntan lotion. So... yeah?"

She lingers at the tender spot below one ear, making me sigh. "Yeah. But... I don't know what to do."

Softly she captures my mouth, smiling into our kiss. "You don't have to _do_ anything except feel and give in to the moment. Not exactly the time to be so goal-oriented. Okay?"

I can't help laughing again. "Okay."

Straightening up, she encourages me to raise my arms up over my head. "Damn," she breathes, raking her eyes up and down the entire length of my body, then locking her gaze with mine until I realize that, without meaning to, our breathing has become synchronized. Slowly she runs the tips of her fingers over the insides of my arms. My eyes flutter shut, feeling her exquisitely tender touch move inexorably lower until every nerve ending I possess is awake and singing. By the time she reaches my feet, I am breathing faster and harder and not even attempting to suppress the whimpering moans spilling from my throat.

Gently she nudges my legs apart until my aching sex is splayed completely open for her. My heart pounds as she pours more warm oil over and between my thighs. I cry out softly when she explores every ridge and fold, circling my asshole, rubbing my outer and inner lips until I can feel them engorge and pulse. Of their own bidding my hips arch and undulate toward her, unabashedly begging for more.

A finger slips easily into my ass even as two fingers of her other hand slide into my cunt, pressing and curling while her thumb rhythmically caresses my thrumming clit. The river of my arousal mingles with the slickness of the oil as I give myself totally to her, writhing and quivering in seemingly endless release, one all-consuming orgasm rolling into the next, over and over again.

When I regain consciousness, every fiber of my being is exhausted and yet invigorated. Cosima is sprawled over me, one arm across my torso with her hand resting beneath the curve of my breast, a leg nestled possessively between mine. I am aware as never before of the perfect fit of our entwined bodies, the Josephine knot of our limbs. Stroking the warm satin of her back, I press a kiss to her temple.

"Fuck, you feel so good, babe," she murmurs against my chest.

Smiling against her skin, I hold her tightly. "Oh, chérie. Yes, I do."


	14. Chocolate Salty Balls, part 1

**Chocolate Salty Balls, part 1**

I smile as Cosima hugs me from behind. Leaning back against her, I delight in the feeling of her slender body pressed to my back, her arms wrapped snugly around my waist. "Hello, chérie. You must have been working late."

"Hello, yourself," she murmurs between my shoulderblades. "Didn't realize what time it was until my eyes started bubbling. Forgot to eat dinner so my blood sugar got super low."

Turning, I drape my arms around her shoulders and kiss her softly. "I hope you ate something."

"Scott gave me a, um, vintage Twinkie that he found in his desk drawer. Then we went to Smoke's and split this ridiculously huge order of poutine. I'm still burping cheese curds."

"Pouah!" I can't help laughing. "What were you working on that had you so enthralled?"

"We kinda fell into a pharmacogenomics rabbit hole."

"I can see where that could get distracting. Did you find anything interesting?"

"Well, for one thing, I have a *4 allele for CYP2D6, which explains why I don't really respond to codeine for pain. That shit jacks me up and makes me puke, anyway, so until I find something more effective I think I'll stick to weed. Whatcha making? I could smell chocolate from the elevator."

"This is for dessert tomorrow night. You did say you didn't want to go out for dinner."

She makes a face. "Yeah, not interested in fighting with hordes of people all trying to make romantic gestures in the middle of an overcrowded restaurant. Take it from a former server: Valentine's Day is one of the worst times of the year to eat out. We used to call it amateur night."

I rest my forehead against hers, watching the play of light in her eyes. "I can think of nothing I would like better than to stay in and have a nice romantic dinner at home with you."

"And then fuck like bunnies until we're so exhausted we stumble in to work at like noon the next day?"

Smiling, I kiss the tip of her nose. "That too."

Cosima burrows into my neck, pressing her lips softly to the hollow of my throat. "Seriously, though, what are you making? 'Cause this looks amazing." Before I can stop her, she reaches out to swipe a finger through a bowl of cooling ganache. Her eyes close as she licks her finger clean. The lazy cat curl of her tongue mesmerizes me. "Holy shit, that's good. Way better than stale Twinkies." She tips up her head to kiss me. "Dude, is that bourbon and salted caramel in there?"

I kiss away a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. "Yes, along with butter and a little strong coffee. No more sampling," I say sternly, pushing away her wrist to prevent her from stealing another taste. Sliding my other hand down, I pinch the curve of her bottom.

"Hey!"

"And for your information, I am making truffles. Furthermore, the ganache is perfectly emulsified and at the correct temperature right now, and if you don't let me finish them I'll have to re-emulsify the mixture and then let it cool again. Which means we will not be able to start 'fucking like bunnies' tonight until — "

"Okay, okay, I'll be a good girl." Teeth gently nip at the junction of my neck and shoulder. "But what happens if I'm a very bad girl?

I smack her smartly on the ass, leaving my hand in place to enjoy the feeling of caressing her firm warm flesh encased in velvety finewale corduroy. "Then you don't get any truffles. I will give them all to Scott and make sure he eats every single one in front of you."

She deliberately grinds her hips, pressing her buttocks into my hand. "That's just playing dirty, Dr. Cormier." A slim strong thigh insinuates itself between my legs, making me hiss when firm muscle presses against my sex through my jeans.

"Petite peste!" I swat her on the butt again, then propel her over to the breakfast bar with a little push. Laughing, she sticks out her tongue at me, hops up onto a stool and props her head on her hands to watch me.

Using my smallest disher, I scoop the ganache into identically sized half moon lumps. I pull on a pair of nitrile gloves and quickly roll each lump into a perfectly round ball, spacing them evenly on a parchment-covered sheet pan. Setting the pan into the refrigerator to let the balls cool and firm up for a few minutes, I make sure everything else is ready.

Working quickly, I drop each one into a bowl of tempered dark chocolate, then lift it with a fork, tapping it against the side of the bowl to shake off the excess. Some of them, I immediately roll in a pie pan filled with finely chopped toasted hazelnuts; others I roll in cocoa powder or sprinkle with a tiny pinch of fleur de sel. With a grunt of satisfaction, I strip off and discard my gloves and inspect my handiwork, critically looking over the neat rows of truffles and finding nothing to fault.

Cosima's eyes are wide behind her glasses. "That is, like, sex on a plate. Literally."

I smile at her. Carefully poking at one of the salt-sprinkled truffles to make sure it is firm enough to handle, I take it over to her and pop it into her mouth.

"Duuuuude," she moans, chewing happily.

Leaning over the bar, I capture her mouth in a deliciously chocolatey, sweet-salty kiss. "Mmm." Suddenly I get an idea. I reach out to grab what's left of the tempered chocolate, then move around the other side of the bar, spinning her stool around to face me. She lets her legs part so I can sidle between them, cupping her cheeks in my hands and kissing her deeply again.

I trail my hands down over her torso, slipping them beneath the hem of her sweater and skimming it up and off her body. Undoing the clasp of her bra and flinging it after the sweater, I sigh with pleasure at the sight of her bared skin.

Nimble fingers undo the buttons of my placket and slide my shirt off my shoulders. She pulls me closer. We both groan at the sensation of her breasts pressing against mine.

Reaching for the bowl, I dip a finger into the chocolate, then paint a line along each side of her jawline and daub the rest over her lips. Moving slowly, I kiss and lick away every trace of chocolate, paying extra attention to her mouth until it is parted and swollen.

Cosima sticks two fingers into the bowl to scoop up a big dollop, splotching it at the center of my chest and feathering smears around my breasts. Copying my example, she kisses and licks all the chocolate off my skin, adding nips of her teeth to the sensitive undersides of my breasts until they are tingling and I am arching toward her, all but shoving them into her mouth. Looking up at me with a naughty grin, she scoops up more chocolate and coats each of my nipples with a thick layer. I wind my hands into her dreads and insistently guide her head down, crying out when she licks and sucks first at one nipple, then then other, sending little jolts of arousal straight to my thrumming cunt.

Panting, I free my hands from her hair and dab chocolate into her belly button. Kneeling on the floor between her legs, I swirl my tongue into the little cavity until she is gasping and giggling helplessly.

I start to undo the button of her waistband but she stops me with a hand on my wrist. "No chocolate below the waist, babe. Not unless you want to have to treat me for a raging yeast infection."

Tugging her down so I can kiss her, I plunder the depths of her mouth and let her do the same to mine. "Then it's a good thing I don't need my hands to eat you out, chérie," I murmur against her lips. "Now. If you have no further objections, your pants are very much in my way."

"Ooohhh, Dr. Cormier..."

* * *

 _Sorry for the short but (I hope) sweet chapter — I have Big Plans for my wife for tomorrow *eg*. Happy Valentine's Day to all, and à bientôt, j'espère!_


	15. Colour of the Sun, part 1

**Colour of the Sun, part 1**

"It's not much," she warns, unlocking the deadbolt and the knob. Holding open the rusting screen door, she turns on the lights and gestures for me to go in.

I drop our bags onto a convenient chair and pause to take in the details of the room, which clearly serves as the little cottage's living and dining area. Cosima watches me out of the corner of her eye as she moves around opening windows to let the salt-tasting breeze and rumble‐hiss of waves sweep away the damp and slightly musty air.

Gladly following her example, I kick off my sandals by the entrance and scuff barefoot over the wide-planked hardwood floor — which appears to have been a recent improvement — toward a big vinyl-covered sofa whose floral print has faded to amorphous blobs. The cushions scrunch loudly beneath me as I bend to brush sand from my legs. Beckoning for her to join me, I sling an arm around her shoulders and brush my lips over the wispy hairs curling at the top of her forehead as she snuggles into my side.

I look around. The furniture looks as though it had been acquired at a sidewalk jumble sale. A faintly mildewed and rather hairy greenish-brown lounge chair lurks near melamine shelves triple‐stacked with tattered paperbacks. The coffee table is a brutish, clumsy thing consisting of scrap materials nailed and screwed together; the gouges, scratches and coffee‐ring stains it's acquired over the years have given it a patina of interest it probably never deserved when it was newly built. A rabbit‐eared TV on a rolling stand holding an enormous early model VCR and a stack of videos, a few molded‐plastic chairs, a small round plastic dining table and flying wedges of shadows carved by the wobbling ceiling fan's dim light fixture complete the picture.

 _House Beautiful_ will not be calling any time soon.

But it has a cheerful, unapologetically homely appeal, especially since I can perfectly imagine Cosima-as-a-teenager running through it with glee. "I like it," I say at last, meaning it.

I feel her relax in my arms. "Not exactly the Ritz, I know. But my parents and I loved this place. We spent a few summers here while my mom was finishing up the research for her diss." She had been thrilled to find it listed on Airbnb after I had complained one too many times about being so cold and wanting to go someplace warm. I admit that I had been a little dubious about coming here, especially after hearing her description, but seeing how happy she is now makes any slight discomfort worthwhile.

Leaning back into the corner of the sofa cushions, I snug her close, breathing in the scents of the ocean and beach mingling with the scents of her skin and hair. Her arms wrap around my waist. Soft lips nibble-kiss their way along my throat, making me hum when she lingers at an especially sensitive spot. I slide a hand up her back to knead the nape of her neck, eliciting little contented puppylike sounds. It has been a very long day, what with the flight from Toronto, the drive down the coast from Tampa, then the ferry trip to the island. Just being able to stretch out and hold her like this feels so damned good.

"Hey, babe, d'you want a drink?" she says after a while. "They're supposed to have stocked the pantry for us."

"Yes, please. Just water, though — I'm feeling a little dehydrated."

Scrambling to her feet, she bends to give me a kiss, then patters the few steps over to the tiny kitchen. Harsh buzzing greenish fluorescent light flickers on long enough for her to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and find a couple of glasses in a cabinet. Returning to the sofa, she pours for both of us and settles back into my embrace.

A small smile crooks up one side of my mouth. "Ronald McDonald?" I say, amused, inspecting the much-scratched leering face on my glass.

She holds up her own tumbler to show me a barely recognizable Mayor McCheese. "Nothing but the finest crystal for us, m'lady."

Draining her glass, she sets it on the coffee table next to mine. I slide lower so that she winds up draped over me, her body melding with mine in a familiar tangle of limbs. Tipping up her chin, I claim her mouth, brushing the heavy curtain of her dreads away from her cheek as I lose myself in the sweet depths of our kiss. I slip my hands beneath the edge of her tanktop to stroke little circles over the silky skin at the small of her back.

A shuddering sigh hitches its way through her chest. "Fuck, babe, I want you so much."

"Oh, I certainly hope so, chérie. It's been almost twelve whole hours since we last made love," I tease. Hungrily we devour one another until we are breathless, our lips swollen and bruisingly tender.

Her hand bunches in my blouse to yank its tails out from the waistband of my shorts, tearing the thin material and sending buttons flying in her haste. She glides her palms upward, deliberately lingering at the slight swells of my breasts and pinching my nipples between her fingers, not gently. I gasp at the twin jagged bolts that seem to be hard‐wired to my already flooded cunt.

Impatiently I sit up and strip off what's left of my blouse and camisole, tossing them somewhere on the floor. Rolling us over with my hip, I wrap my hands around her wrists so that she is happily trapped beneath me. I raise up on my arms to tilt my weight away from her chest and emphasize the slow grind of my pelvis against hers.

She regards me intently. A white‐flashing smile steals across her face. "What?" I ask, curious.

"I was just thinking that it would be a shame to, like, spoil your skin with tan lines."

I laugh. "That's why we brought the SPF 100 sunblock. And you did say that most of the people who come here are weekenders and the rest of the time this place is almost deserted. Surely we can find someplace where we can swim naked."

Her eyes are huge, luminous behind her glasses. "Do anything else you want while naked, too. Matter of fact," her voice drops half an octave, "there's dozens of spots around the island where you could fuck me senseless with no one to hear me scream other than a handful of seagulls and some horseshoe crabs."

I arch an eyebrow at her. "Dozens, hmm?"

"Dozens," she nods, reaching up for a kiss. "Now, Dr. Cormier," she wraps her legs around me to pull me even more tightly against her, "take me to bed."

As if she can hear the hard insistent chant inside my head, her hips grind harder, making me swallow a groan. I trail my fingers down the center of her chest, playing lightly in the valley between her breasts. "Is there anything wrong with the sofa?"

"Not a thing," she gasps, writhing beneath me. "Except that something is making me stick to the vinyl. Pretty sure I don't wanna know what's on there."

Laughing, I roll to a stand and help her up. Taking me by the hand, she leads me down a narrow hallway to the main bedroom.

Far more charming than the living room, the room contains a white-painted wrought iron bed, white wicker furniture and a set of French doors that Cosima flings open to reveal a wide deck that overlooks the beach; in the darkness, only foam-capped rollers with their faint phosphorescent trails are visible, along with a lone red signal light from a softly clanging buoy a few hundred meters offshore. Through the open doors and Bermuda shutters, the rhythmic crash of the waves is hypnotic, soothing. Sea grass rugs lend their pleasant, sweet smell to the ocean breezes skirling through the small space.

Turning down the bed, I am delighted to find Irish linen sheets, an incongruous luxury in the otherwise nondescript surroundings. Though in a way, they're more practical than they would seem: linen is an exceptionally durable fabric, and its fine crisp weave is kind to sun-chafed skin as well as breathable in the hot muggy climate.

But the unexpected pleasure of that discovery pales in comparison to the breathtaking appeal of my beautiful girl, now stalking naked toward me with unmistakable intent. Draping her arms around my neck, she pulls me into a deep kiss. The press of her breasts is delicious, her hardened nipples jutting just below mine. Quickly I divest myself of my shorts and underwear, needing to feel all of her against me. Nestling my thigh between hers, I encounter the pulsing heat of her sex, making her moan into my mouth. With my right hand I lift and brace the wrap of her left leg around my hip; my other hand travels over the flat of her belly, her fingers resting loosely on my wrist and not so subtly urging me downward. The noise that tears from her throat isn't quite human as my fingers tease a slow meandering path through her soaking, turgidly swollen lips. She leans heavily against me and whimpers with every slightest swirl and rub.

"Inside, babe," she breathes.

Easily I slip two fingers into her slick heat, stroking and curling until she is arching into the invasion. My thumb finds her clit already near to bursting and begins rubbing in firm tight circles; a cataract of obscenities pours from her mouth even as wetness pours from her clasping sex.

The thunderous pulse at her throat begs to be bitten. I gather the fragile flesh in my teeth, bearing down to mark her lightly to blood and to remind her just how vulnerable she is at this moment. Her hips undulate in pleasure as I slide a third finger inside her cunt; at the same time, I rim her ass with the tip of my pinky, sometimes flicking at the spasming ring to send an electric jolt through her body. Curling my fingers upward with every thrust, working her clit relentlessly, it is not long before she tumbles over the edge of that first peak, shuddering and clinging to me all the while.

I let her leg drop so she can steady herself with both feet. We stand together panting, her head resting on my shoulder, my fingers still buried inside her palpitating cunt. Both of us are already veneered in sweat, the small ceiling fan doing little to stir the heavy salt-dampness whenever the air currents eddy to a halt.

Avidly drinking in every expression and emotion that fleets across her face, I stroke the flushed satin of her cheek. I bend to kiss her softly, not demanding now, just wanting the silent reassuring communion of our mouths, lips and tongues. Smiling, I rest my forehead against hers. "By the way, I like the bedroom."

Cosima snorts, laughing into my neck. Carefully I free my hand and wrap my arms more securely around her waist, marveling as always at the way we instinctively fit against each other. She is not even close to being satiated, I know, but the knife-edge of want has been blunted slightly and we are both loath to break the spell of our connection. "Come to bed," she murmurs, kissing me again. "I'll give you the full nickel tour of the place in the morning."

The bed is a double, much more cozy than the absurdly vast expanse of the California king in my flat. Its frame creaks with every movement, the bedsprings adding their musical complaints to the din. Shifting so that I am lying braced on my elbows atop her, I give her my best wicked smile. "You don't imagine for one moment that I am through with you, do you?"

She spreads her legs, both of us groaning as my dripping sex settles and glides against hers. Hands stroke the length of my back, blunt nails scratching delightfully. "You'd damned well better not be."

I lean in to kiss her fiercely. Breaking away with a slight gasp, I dust tiny kisses over her fluttering eyelids, down her nose, along the angles of her jawline. Letting my hair trail over her skin, I kiss my way down her neck to her breasts with their painfully turgid nipples, marring the pale-olive perfection of her flesh with scarlet half-moons from my teeth. My lips absorb every warm supple curve and line of her torso until I am nuzzling the damp-darkened curls that cover her mound. Inhaling the rich scent of her arousal, my hands run up the backs of her thighs, smoothing over the curves of her awesomely straining buttocks. Wedging with my shoulders and elbows, I open her wider for my delectation, bending to slowly swipe the flat of my tongue through the length of her folds.

Hips rolling into the touch of my mouth, her hands wind painfully into my hair, urging my lips and tongue to increase their pressure. The thick hot flood from her cunt is intoxicating. My tongue wriggles and plunges and swirls in her churning depths. As her movements grow increasingly frantic, the bed frame squeaking and thumping in protest, I drag my tongue up and down either side of her pulsing clit and lash at it from side to side until she writhes and jerks and leaps beneath me, howling in wordless agonized ecstasy.

Lungs rasping harshly, she weakly pushes away my mouth from her hypersensitized clit. I rest my head on her trembling thigh so that she can feel my lightest breath playing over the soaked tangle covering her sex. She finds a shred of voice and gasps, "Goddamn, Dr. Cormier. Get up here."

I chuckle, ghost a kiss at the very top of her mound, and comply, carefully crawling up to lie beside her. She is still shaking as I gather her into my embrace. Her head finds its place on the round of my shoulder, her dreads fanning out on the pillow behind her. Draping her arm possessively over me, her hand nestles beneath the curve of my breast.

The lower half of my face is drenched in her come. Absently she kisses along my jawline, tasting herself. The fragrant scent of her mingles with the sharp tang of clean sweat and the brine of the ocean.

I press my lips to her temple. "Are you all right, chérie?"

"Oh, yeah." She lets her mouth drift lower, lingering over the pounding pulse at the side of my neck until the heavy limpness of her slight frame and the deep even tide of her breath tell me that she has fallen briefly asleep. Surveying the tangle of our bodies, feeling the liquid pulsing heat between my legs, I am content to drift in a ferment of simmering arousal while I wait for her to awaken.


	16. Colour of the Sun, part 2

**Colour of the Sun, part 2**

"Dude, what is that _smell_?"

I look up from crimping weights to the rim of the net and break into a fit of giggling at Cosima's expression. Her hand is clamped over her nose. "This is a chicken neck that has been sitting out in the sun all day. The crabs should find it irresistible."

"So that's why you bought that. Crabs, huh?"

"Yes, there should be plenty of blue crabs off the shore. Don't worry, I won't make you eat them."

"Never been so glad to be a vegetarian, if you're going to eat something that eats something that stinks like _that_." She frowns. "I think my dad tried to catch some once but he didn't have any luck. Don't remember his using zombie chicken parts as bait, though."

"That's probably why he didn't catch any. Crabs are scavengers. Scavengers... scavenge. There!" I hold up the simple trap to show her the chicken neck firmly tied to the center of the smaller inner ring with a series of butcher's knots. The aluminum mesh is still in good shape but the cotton strings had been rotting, so I'd replaced them with braided nylon cord I'd found on a shelf in the carport beneath the house. Holding the trap away from Cosima, I pull her hand from her face so I can kiss her. "I'll be back soon."

"Wait, you're gonna catch some now?"

"It's almost low tide according to the weather chart, so yes. Come with me if you like."

"Hang on, babe." Picking up a bottle of sunscreen and giving it a shake, she pours out a handful and slathers it all over my back and shoulders, then my chest and belly, paying special attention to my breasts.

I can't help laughing. "It's late afternoon, chérie, the sun's going to be setting soon."

She gives me a naughty grin. "Can't have you getting skin cancer."

Taking the bottle from her, I roll my eyes and return the favor, smoothing extra sunscreen over the firm rounds of her buttocks and up the insides of her thighs until she is undulating against me. "Can't have you getting skin cancer," I say. Kissing her again, I pinch her on the bottom, pick up the trap and then turn on my heel to walk toward the beach.

"Hey!"

I look over my shoulder and stick out my tongue at her. "Coming?"

"Not yet, apparently."

* * *

Standing in chest-high water, shivering a little, I carefully drop the trap at arm's length so that it sinks away from my feet. I sneak a glance toward the beach, where Cosima is lying back propped up on her elbows next to the blazing driftwood fire I'd built in a hole dug well above the high tidewater mark but far from the stand of sea oats growing over the dunes. Loosely holding the line until I feel a subtle tug, I quickly pull up the trap and find two nicely plump crabs busily picking at the chicken neck, both of them well over 15 cm across at the carapace. Preoccupied by their prize, they are easy to snag by the backsides of their shells, claws snapping and waving menacingly but futilely. I slip them into the floating bait bucket tethered to my wrist, letting them keep a bit of chicken to nibble on, then drop the trap again. Even after releasing all but the biggest crabs, my bucket is soon full. Warm now from the activity and happy with anticipation, I wade back to shore, leaving the trap and the bucket submerged with their lines tied to a stick sunk deep into the sand to keep them from washing away.

Cosima sits up, applauding and whistling as I approach. Kneeling beside her on her towel, I kiss her soundly. "Hungry? Dinner will take about an hour and a half to cook."

She winds a hand into my hair, pulling me closer. "Mm, yes, but mostly I'm like totally thirsty. Watching you do your naked French Grizzly Adams thing is hot as fuck."

"Dinner first," I murmur, deepening our kiss. "Then we can take care of _all_ of your other needs. However and as many times as you like."

"Cocktease."

I nip her on the tip of her nose. "It's not a tease if I follow through." Getting to my feet, I stroll the couple hundred meters to the house, stopping at the outdoor shower to rinse the sand off my feet and legs before entering. In the kitchen I grab the cooler and the equipment I'd prepared earlier, hauling it back out to the fire.

While Cosima watches, I use a large piece of driftwood as a rake, spreading cherry-red coals evenly among the rocks I'd used to line the hole in the sand. Dumping a thick layer of rockweed on top of the coals produces a fragrant cloud of hissing steam. I fetch the bucket of angrily clacking crabs, emptying them out onto a disposable aluminum pan I'd perforated with a screwdriver; into another pan goes a big pile of scrubbed red potatoes, halved peeled onions and ears of corn that have been soaking in their husks all afternoon. I dust everything liberally with a spice mix called Old Bay, which the seafood clerk at the grocery store had assured me was a critical component to the success of my endeavor. Carefully I lay the pans onto the steaming rockweed. Covering them with two more pans and then with another thick layer of rockweed, I place a folded canvas tarp and some heavy stones over the whole thing to hold in the steam. Finally I unwrap a couple sticks of butter and place them in a saucepan on top of the tarp to slowly melt.

"What now?"

I smile. She is wide-eyed, like a child anticipating a magician's next trick. "Now we wait."

"Wait?" Her mouth purses into a small moue. "How long?"

I check my watch. "About an hour."

Even in the descending darkness I can see her pout tilt sideways into a grin. "Gee, I wonder how we could possibly pass the time for a whole hour."

Bending to kiss her, I smile against her lips. "I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"

"Maaaaaybe."

* * *

Cosima swims like a fish, I am surprised and somewhat dismayed to discover, laboring to catch up. Or maybe a dolphin, gliding and diving playfully, stopping frequently and circling around to tread water while she waits for me to follow. "How far are we — " A wave slaps over me, making me cough and sputter. I shake my hair out of my face, get my bearings and strike out once more toward the outline of her head.

"Almost there," she calls. "Come on, Delphine."

Grimly I flail on. I don't see it at first, but finally I glimpse something dark looming behind her. Panting, I finally reach her side, resting my hand on the edge of a large, wide, nearly flat rock. "I didn't realize this was here," I manage to say between gasps.

"Lot of people don't. It's mapped on the nautical charts but you can't see it except at low tide, so some idiot's always gunning their boat into it. Here," she says, towing me around to a set of steps roughly hewn into the beach-facing side.

Finding equally crude handholds cut on either side of the steps, I haul myself out of the water and flop wheezing onto my back, ignoring the faintly sulfurous smell of the slimy surface. My skin goose-pimples in the cool air, but the rock is still sun-warmed beneath me and I am more than warm enough after my exertions. I hold out my hand to Cosima as she scrambles up to join me.

She squints down, absently wringing water out of her dreads. "Shit, babe." Moving carefully over the slippery rock, she settles next to me, running her hand up and down the inside of my thigh. "Sorry, I should have warned you about the rip currents — they can be unpredictable along the sandbar. I think you were trying to swim directly against one."

"Is that what happened?" I recover my breath after a moment's rest. "Thank goodness. I thought I was just really out of shape."

Her teeth flash whitely in the darkness. "Not from where I'm sitting." Moving higher, her fingers tease lightly through my folds, making my breath hitch for an entirely different reason.

My hips twitch in pleasure, my body vibrant with expectation. Letting my thighs part in invitation, I smile up at her.

"So fucking beautiful," Cosima says softly, lying on her side half draped over me. Her hand cups the length and breadth of my sex protectively, reveling in the pulse of my desire against her palm.

Moving a hand to the deep indent of her waist, feeling the little tremors skirmishing under my touch, I press my hips against hers. A puff of warm breath ghosts against my ear when her head dips briefly to my shoulder to taste the salt on my skin. I smile to myself as her fingers drift lower through the heat I can feel even now emanating from my sex.

"Up," she whispers, urging me to bend one leg. Sitting up, smoothly she slips her leg beneath the crook of my knee, sliding her hips forward to close the small space that separates us. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Quickly losing myself in the sensation of the slick warm wetness of her sex gliding against mine, my hips circling and grinding in perfect synch with hers in a pattern that has no beginning and no end, I have to agree. The lapping of waves against the rock is gentler and far less frantic than the peel and slap of our bodies as we desperately flex together, settling quickly into a rhythm that sends us gasping and moaning and hurtling toward a seemingly endless series of juddering convulsions that in turn create more eddying tides of want, need and molten gratification through us both.

I have no idea how long we lie sprawled together, but eventually I feel her stir, feel soft lips unerringly finding the tender spot below my ear. Kissing her temple, I breathe in the scent of her, of us, of the sea.

The spell is broken by the loud, almost musical rumbling of our stomachs. Laughing helplessly, Cosima rolls on top of me, bracing on her elbows as she leans in for a kiss. "Race you back to the beach, babe."

"Bring it, chérie."


	17. Colour of the Sun, part 3

**The Cosima Sutra, part 3: Dirty Pool**

Damn. Place hasn't changed at all.

Allman Brothers on the jukebox. Vague film of lard over everything. When I breathe in, the back of my throat gets coated with the taste of salt air mixed with the smell of grease traps that haven't been cleaned out since, like, ever. I could swear the waitresses are the same ones who used to take care of my family whenever we'd come here for dinner. Forget health regulations — each of the women has a lit cigarette parked in the corner of her mouth, with a sunburst of wrinkles radiating around the butt and a long tail of ash dangling from the end. The rough wooden trestle tables are full of the regular crowd of fishermen pounding beer and fried catfish/fried clams/fried everything. There's a young couple with two little kids tucked away in a corner and eating quietly without speaking; they look like boating tourists who got lost in the inlets and stumbled over the only commercial establishment for miles.

Delphine takes it all in. Somehow, even though she looks completely out of place, she's still totally comfortable in her skin and rolls with whatever comes along. I fucking love that about her. She watches as the bartender pulls a Killian's draft and slides it over to me without asking. He nods politely at her. "What'll it be, ma'am?"

"Jack and Coke." Her go-to when she knows the wine and whisky selection are going to be less than stellar. "And I would prefer that you didn't call me 'ma'am.'"

Flash of white teeth below the thick brush of a mustache. "You been with her long?" Mike asks me, handing over her drink and giving her an appreciative glance that encompasses her tight white 'beater and the perfect painted-on fit of her faded jeans.

"Not long enough," I say softly. Those big gorgeous eyes meet mine, smiling.

A snort from the big man bursts the moment. "Right. Well, you two behave yourselves, you hear?"

I give him the Bambi look, which startles him for a second and then makes him snort again. "Save that for someone who'll buy it and let you keep the change. You gonna spend any money tonight or are you just gonna decorate the place like you used to?"

"She has a tendency to do both," says Delphine. A smirk lurks around the edges of her mouth.

"Nice to see some brats do grow up. At least now I don't have to pretend to believe that crappy fake license you'd flash at me." Recovering his manners, or more likely his prudence, he clears his throat and goes back to wiping the spotless varnished teak of the bar top.

An elegantly raised eyebrow looks a question at me. _Later_ , I glare. Aloud I say, "You want to sit down, babe? Or we could shoot some pool for a bit."

Up goes the other brow. "Pool, I guess. You'll have to show me how to play, though."

"No prob. Just gotta think of it as applied physics."

Mike shoves over a box of balls, a cube of chalk and a couple of cues that are only a little warped. Nodding my thanks, I pick up the lot and haul it over to the pool table in the back of the room. It's small but the hardwood rails are polished and the slate looks like it's been recently re-felted; the cushions are sharp and square and look as though they'll bounce true. The stained glass lamp hanging above it proclaims Budweiser to be the king of beers and makes the green surface glow.

I take out a few balls and pick up one of the cues. "Hold the cue near the base like this, and let the other end rest on your left hand." Flattening my hand to make a bridge with the cue balanced in the vee between my thumb and index finger, I show her how to keep the cue steady as I stroke it back and forth. She watches me intently, then copies my movements perfectly. "That's awesome. Okay, the cue ball is the only ball you hit directly. The point of contact varies depending on whether you're trying to put english or spin on it, but right now we're just gonna focus on hitting it dead center. You want a smooth, even, controlled motion." I demonstrate, sending a ball down the table in a straight line to bounce it off the foot cushion so that it rolls to a stop against the tip of my cue.

Delphine nods, still watching my hands. She strokes her cue lightly into a ball, catching it when it returns, then hits it again hard enough to rocket it around off all the cushions.

"Now try using the cue ball to hit another ball."

Catching her lower lip in her teeth, she taps the cue ball to click it against her object ball. She tries a few more shots, varying the force and angles and watching how the balls respond. "Okay, I think I get the concept."

"Cool." Quickly I explain the rules while I rack the balls and position the cue ball behind the headstring. "Wanna break?"

"Break?"

"First shot to start the game."

"Sure, why not?"

I stand behind her, mostly so I can get a good look at her ass as she bends over. A quick heavy snap of her wrist knocks the cue ball into the apex with a loud crack, sending the balls flying. Three balls dive into pockets like gophers running for shelter from a hawk. Moving fluidly around the table, she sinks two more shots in quick succession.

"Very nice, Dr. Cormier," I say, giving her a sarcastic golf clap. "I think I've been hustled."

She looks up at me and makes an obscene gesture with the tip of her tongue. "It's not hustling if I haven't lured you into playing for higher stakes than you can afford, chérie." Making sure I get a good look down her cleavage, she cuts the 7 so that it glides along the rail to drop into the corner pocket; the cue ball kisses off the far cushion and rolls to a stop in perfect position for her to put away the 8 in the opposite corner. "Shall we play for dinner?" she says with a wink.

"You're on, Fast Eddie."

While she racks the balls again, I go over to the jukebox and feed in some quarters. _Well, I never been to Spain but I kinda like the music_...

When I return, I'm a little annoyed to see that we've been joined by a couple of guys with Miller Light longnecks in hand. They're watching Delphine like hyenas sniffing around an antelope. One of them catches my eye: looks like early twenties, sun-streaked dark blond hair, lean muscular body packed into tight jeans and a sleeveless shirt with the armholes cut low enough to show a glimpse of his ab definition. In ten years his skin will be saddle leather but right now it's the color of buttered caramel; my sensory imagination supplies its warm, supple texture. He leans against the edge of a table, thumbs hooked in his front pockets and fingers framing his crotch in the classic pose of the inveterate horndog.

His friend is perfectly decent looking but his complexion is a disaster area of acne and there's a wide strawberry birthmark across his forehead. He's clearly seen this man-dance before. "Come on, dude, let's eat."

"Nah, man, you go on, Ricky," the kid says. His gaze never leaves us, appraising, supremely confident in his ability to cut his choice out of the available female population at will. Shrugging in resignation, Ricky parks himself on the edge of a nearby table, arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

A smile that is probably the mirror to mine plays over Delphine's lips. I avoid her eyes, knowing that if I see the amusement sparking in them I will bust out laughing.

Stretching a touch more than necessary, she lifts one foot off the floor and drapes herself along the edge to take a shot down table. "How about a game?" she asks the kid, just to see his eyes snap back to her face. "Eight-ball?"

The faintest color touches his chiseled cheekbones but then the cocksure grin flashes. "A'ight. Loser buys the next round?"

"Very well." She salutes him with her glass and takes a big swallow, then racks the balls again with the 8 in the center, a stripe and a solid in the corners.

"Ladies first," says the kid with what I guess is supposed to be a gallant gesture.

She nods and deliberately mishits so the cue ball just glances off the apex, barely scattering the balls. With a shrug, she drifts over to my side, not far from the table where his friend is slouched.

Practically crowing, the kid whacks the cue ball. Typically, he wastes a lot of energy and motion in a display of power with no strategy or precision, though the 7 does drop as the balls roll to a halt. He winks at us. "Guess I'm solids."

 _Guess you're a rocket scientist_. "Check out that ass," I say to Delphine, pitching my voice so that it's just loud enough for Ricky to hear. All three of us watch as the kid makes a big show of calculating angles and leaves, then sinking his shots with unnecessary force.

"Yes, very nice," she replies in a similar tone, clearly wondering where this is going but following my lead.

"Yep. Firm round bubble butt. Just the kind I like." Ricky grunts, covering by taking a swig from his bottle. "Wouldn't you love to drill your cock into it?"

I pretend not to notice the choking sound from our neighbor. "Oh, yeah," I continue, my eyes never leaving the kid as he struts and preens around the pool table, "when you take that cherry, I bet his asshole is so tight you can feel it vibrate."

"Mmm," says Delphine, picking up on the game. "I do love initiating a straight boy. It's absolutely delicious, the struggle between his sense of revulsion at being violated in that way and the unthinkable realization that it feels too damned good to do anything to stop it. Especially when you finally have him opened enough to take the head of your cock and you feel that beautiful quivering resistance give way. Then you start pumping your hips, just a little, just enough to work the head back and forth so it tugs against the ring."

I swallow hard. Sense-memory is making my thighs rub together of their own volition. "Fuck, yeah. And every time you shift or change direction it's like a ripple goes up his spine, until he's hunching back into you and you know that ass is begging for more."

"Oh, yes. And when you work your way deeper, his cock gets so hard it's almost parallel to his belly. Hot and heavy and pulsing, and so slick with his pre-ejaculate that you don't even need lube. It's even better if he's not circumcised , so you can tug at and twist the skin with each stroke.

"They usually come for the first time when you're about halfway in, right when the head of your cock is pushing against the prostate and the bulb of the corpus spongiosum. You can feel the energy gathering in the clenching of his whole body, the drawing up of his balls. You thrust slow but hard and deep to push him over the edge and the next thing you know, he's dancing on the end of your cock and squeezing you so hard you can't move."

"Eight ball, side pocket," calls the kid triumphantly, whooping as it arrows in with a final click.

Ricky shakes himself from his daze. His face is beet red and there is an impressive bulge tenting his jeans.

Not nearly as impressive as the one in Delphine's jeans, but he doesn't need to know that.

The kid swaggers over, clearly expecting to claim his prize. "Sorry, baby, I guess a gentleman ought to have let you get in a couple shots at least. What the hell's wrong with you?" he asks his friend.

An even deeper flush stains Ricky's craggy face. "Nothing," he mutters, looking away.

Not that the kid notices or cares. "Would you ladies care to join us for dinner?" Mr. Suave waggles an eyebrow. "Or anything else that comes to mind?"

"I'm afraid we have plans," Delphine says softly.

There is a dangerous note in her voice. I look closely at her face. Instantly I am wet and throbbing at the promise I read there.

Still the kid is oblivious. "You waiting for someone? Got boyfriends or something like that?"

Her eyes blaze. "Something like that."

Vaguely I register him spitting out the words "Fucking dykes!" and then he is gone and so is his little friend, but I don't give a shit because I am consumed with welcoming the bruising demands of her mouth, lips, teeth and tongue, with crushing the length of my body against hers, with grinding my sex against the hard insistent jut of her cock until I am lightheaded and panting and absolutely sopping with the need to be filled.

"Goddammit, I want you. Now."

She kisses me again, hard, then releases my mouth with a gasp. Latching on to my throat, she marks me with her teeth, then grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door.

"No, wait, babe. This way." I tow her out the side exit near the kitchen, to the dark area behind the bar where the big dumpster hides us from view of the parking lot and the docks. The air is damp and alive with the sounds of cicadas and frogs, the scents of far-off rotting fish, the clean briny smell of the sea. But then she slams me up against the wall and awareness of anything else goes away.

Laughing breathlessly, I kiss her roughly even as my hands dive for the zip of her fly and yank out her cock. In something less than no time flat she has my skirt hiked up and my underwear looped around one ankle. Hiking my leg and clamping it around her waist, I moan against her lips as she guides the head of her cock into my waiting dripping _wanting_ cunt.

I clutch at her shoulder blades, clawing bluntly through the thin material of her tanktop. My hair is snagging on something but I couldn't care less. I grind to meet her, only to get slammed back by the vicious snapping of her hips that plunges her cock deep inside me. She snakes a hand between us, making me almost fall over when she circles her fingers over my hot, swollen clit. Goading her to fuck me harder, faster, a hoarse stream of obscenities spills from my throat until a rolling thunder of quaking spasms grips me again and again, shuddering around her. A red haze obscures my vision and I am vaguely aware of her choking shout and the eruption of her hips as she comes violently inside me. The savage rutting of her cock into my cunt gradually slows until she is fighting for breath, leaning heavily against me and pinning me to the wall. I'm glad of the support because my legs are pretty much useless right now.

Sweat clings to us, turning clammy in the salt air and soaking through the thin barriers of our clothes. Her tongue flickers lightly in the sensitive area between my neck and jaw.

"Shit, Dr. Cormier," I manage to say hoarsely, feeling my cunt pulsing helplessly around the thick spear of her cock. "I think I like your version of strip pool."


	18. Colour of the Sun, part 4

**Colour of the Sun, part 4: Your Touch Has Thrilled Me Like the Rush of the Wind**

"Oh my god, I am never eating again." Cosima leans back against me on the sticky vinyl bench seat of our booth. She stretches and takes a deep breath that is cut short by a genteel burp. "'Scuse me."

Giggling, I wrap my arms around her, careful not to squeeze her distended belly too firmly. "You said the same thing last night after our crab bake on the beach, chérie. And yet tonight you still managed to consume a truly heroic quantity of onion rings, fried pickles, cole slaw and — what were those things called, the ones that looked like a pile of hamsters?"

"Hush puppies. Don't pretend that you didn't steal like half of them." I pinch the side of her waist through her blouse. "Hey!"

"I only ate two," I remind her, sweeping her dreads aside to nuzzle the nape of her neck. "And a tiny nibble of that disgustingly sweet concoction you had for dessert."

"Shut up, deep-fried Snickers bars are like totally divine."

"Beurk!" Taking advantage of the cover the plastic tablecloth provides, I slide one hand down her belly to rest on her lap. Slowly I gather the edge of her brief skirt and tease my fingers up her inner thigh, feeling her quads shift beneath soft tender skin. She makes a rumbling sound in my ear, letting her legs part as I move higher. Emboldened, the hissing gasp that escapes her constrained pleasure makes me smile, as does the involuntary jerk of her hips as I stroke the swollen ridges and folds of her sex and tease at the entrance of her cunt. "You're still so wet," I whisper, my mouth teasing the delicate curve of her ear and working its way down her cheek to the slender column of her throat. Having her secretly open to me like this thrills my heartbeat to a racing thrum, making it difficult to breathe.

She squirms, the muscles of her thighs and abdomen tautening. "Completely your fault," she murmurs. Somehow she manages to turn around and straddle me in the cramped space, her knees digging into the seat and her hips grinding her sex against the bulky outline of my cock in my jeans. My clit throbs with every slightest motion. Sliding my hands around, I cup the firm curves of her buttocks, circling and kneading smooth firm warm flesh.

I have a sudden image of taking her in the middle of the pool table, fucking her hard enough to bounce her ass off the slate.

Surely it wouldn't cost that much to get it resurfaced again.

Shaking myself mentally, I come to my senses. The young family in the corner make no pretense about not staring at us, the little kids' eyes round with unvoiced questions. I have never been inclined to put myself on display, much less with this sort of audience.

"Come on," I say, breaking away reluctantly and taking her by the hand to tug her toward the exit. I acknowledge Mike's wink by sketching a salute at him as we pass the bar and then push through the heavy wood door and out into the damp coolness of night.

Our shoes — ringing thump of my boots, lighter slap of her sandals — echo against sun-warped boards as we walk the gently swaying pathway that is illuminated by sodium lamps projecting their cones of greenish-yellow light at regular intervals along the dock. We reach the slip where the Sea Ray cabin cruiser I've rented is bumping gently against its fenders. It's a beauty, with a sleek hull design that muscles through the water powered by huge twin diesels, but right now it's not the boat's performance and features I'm interested in.

I start to head for the forward stateroom but Cosima's hand on my arm halts me. She pulls me into a ferocious embrace, her hand possessive on the back of my neck, the other yanking the tail of my shirt out of my jeans. "I want you to fuck me out here, babe, under the stars," she murmurs, her lips hard on mine, her tongue invading and effectively silencing me by kissing me senseless.

And then she is lying back on top of one of the built in padded benches that surround the aft section. Our clothes and shoes are a crumpled afterthought somewhere on the polished teak deck, all impediment to my proper appreciation of her skin removed. Before I know it, I am kneeling between her legs and guiding my cock into her swollen dripping cunt, a single smooth thrust seating me to the hilt. She groans and pulls me down into a kiss, wrapping her legs around the small of my back to pull me inside her deeper still.

"Aren't you glad I insisted on going shopping in Tampa?" she says breathily, easily finding and matching my rhythm.

Raising up on my elbows, I withdraw all the way out of her, teasing her glassy clit with the fat head of my cock until she is whimpering and beckoning me with the urging of her hips. I bend to kiss her roughly. "I don't need accoutrements to fuck you properly, chérie. But," I easily find her eager opening, "I will admit that I do thoroughly enjoy taking you this way." A vicious snap forward plunges me fully into her, again and again. Instantly we are sheened with rivulets of sweat that has no hope of evaporating in the damp heaviness of the salt air, our bodies arching and clutching, her hips rising up to meet me only to be slammed back down into the bench. Too soon our frantic coupling breaks us with the fury of release, Cosima shuddering and clinging to me as I bolt into her, feeling as though my spine were being ripped out by the roots. Heart thundering, breath rasping, I judder to a halt. My arms and shoulders burn with the effort of keeping my upper body from collapsing atop her. Still lodged deep within, carefully I roll us over so I can hold her without squashing her.

Idly I stroke the long planes of her back with one hand, the curve of her cheek with the other. She leans into my palm, rubbing her face against it like a cat marking its territory. "To hell with Dyad and lab tests and hinky human experiments, babe. Let's ditch that whole shitshow and stay down here. We could steal this boat, take it down to hide in the Out Islands in the Bahamas and just fuck all day until I pass out for good."

Ignoring the pang in my heart, I keep my tone light, trying to match her feckless mood. "And what am I supposed to do with your corpse, hmm?"

"Roll it overboard. Sharks gotta eat too, don't they?"

Despite myself, I start laughing at the thought. _Because if I don't laugh I'm going to cry_. "So not only would they charge me with grand theft larceny and breach of contract, but I'm fairly certain that feeding your body to the sharks would constitute misuse of company property as well."

She snorts, damping her laugh into the side of my neck. And then her mouth finds mine again and for long minutes we do not move, lulled by the gentle bobbing and rolling of the boat. The leisurely motion causes infinitesimal shifts of my cock within her. Rapidly her desire begins to ratchet higher again, her hips urging mine to rock and plunge harder, faster. I hold still, though, keeping my movements small and making her whine with frustration.

I consider fetching the length of braided nylon rope I'd seen earlier in the day inside one of the aft storage lockers. The cruiser offers many tempting surfaces and tiedowns, and her skin would flush so beautifully if I used the coiled end of the heavy, silky rope as a flogger... But more practical considerations win out: if I give in to my impulse, she would be terribly uncomfortable when we make the trip back to Toronto in a few days, not to mention most of the clothing she brought is too brief to cover up the bruises that would almost certainly result.

Instead, I roll us back over and pull out slowly, her cunt sucking greedily at the broad head of my cock until reluctantly she lets me go with a wet pop. I regain my feet, finding my balance on the lightly swaying deck and giving her a quick reassuring kiss. "On your hands and knees, chérie."

Cosima blinks. Even in the velvet darkness pierced only intermittently by stars and a cloud-shrouded half-moon and the eerie green glow of the dock lights, I can see her eyes grow wide behind the glint of her glasses. She licks her lips and swallows, grinning with the heightened gleam of expectation, then gracefully arranges herself on the bench on all fours.

Standing behind her, I admire the sight of her glistening sex splayed open for me. "Beautiful," I murmur, running my hands along the graceful taper of her torso, over the tempting curves of her ass. Slipping one hand between her legs, I hear the rushed _umph_ of her breath as I circle and tease at the pulsing swell of her clit, turgid and slick with her copious arousal.

I slide my other hand around to stroke the soft flesh of her belly, letting it trail over her taut nipples and back down again. Cupping one breast, weighing its fullness in my palm, I roll the rigid nipple between my fingers, then pinch it hard to hear her outraged howl. Deciding I like the sound, I clamp her other nipple while my cock unerringly finds the weeping entrance to her cunt and fills her completely. I drape myself over her back, my belly and hips and thighs molding around hers in a protective curve, marveling at the sensation of being surrounded so tightly. Kissing the nape of her neck until she shivers, I straighten, never letting up on my fingers' tormenting and beginning a slow rhythmic deep pulse within her.

"Oh, yeah, babe," she gasps, wriggling in a wicked dance that grinds the base of my cock against my aching, throbbing clit. Driving harder, every thrust slaps my hips against her churning buttocks, the wet clasp of her cunt echoed in the lapping of the waves against the boat's hull and along the shore. Trapping her clit between my fingers and fucking it mercilessly, I feel her begin to clutch and shudder around me. I growl with pleasure, loving the abandoned bucking and clenching of her entire body. Her shattering cry rends the darkness as she spasms convulsively around me, writhing and whimpering and helpless to do anything other than come.


	19. Colour of the Sun, part 5

**Colour of the Sun, part 5: Only Happy When it Rains**

Still muzzy and drifting in a cocoon of warmth, I awaken gradually to the sound of rain. Not the kind of rain I've come to associate with Florida, where the increasingly heavy atmosphere gathers into itself until it opens up and vomits water, only to dissipate into steaming too-bright sunshine a few minutes later. Instead, this is a steady, insistent rain, the sort that will not let up for hours.

Cosima lies quietly, half draped over me. One slim muscular thigh nestles between mine; one arm clasps possessively across my torso with her hand loosely curling to cup my ribcage just beneath my breast. Her head rests in its place on my shoulder, her face tucked into the bend of my neck. Gentle warm breath flows tidally across my upper chest. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

I smile, pressing a kiss to her temple and taking in through my mouth the scents of her skin and hair mingling with the alluring miasma of sex that surrounds us and the ever present smell of faint decay carried by the salt-tasting ocean breezes skimming in through the open windows and French doors. "Good morning, chérie." She coughs lightly and nonproductively; I hold my breath, but relax again when no further hacking ensues. However... I bend my head, sniffing. "How did you manage to smuggle weed onto the plane?"

"Busted," she chuckles. "I didn't, but the dishwasher at Mike's hooked me up with an eighth of mids for cheap. Tastes like an OG hybrid that wasn't cured or trimmed properly. Too many stems and a few seeds and it's way too dry, but it'll do."

Languorously I capture her mouth in a lingering kiss; under the pungent harsh earthiness there is the barest hint of lemon and pine. "You haven't been coughing much in the last few days. Maybe we _should_ stay down here. Your lungs would benefit from the heat and humidity."

"Is there like an echo in this room?" Her lips curve against mine. "'Cause I seem to recall making that same suggestion last night and getting totally cock-blocked."

"You wanted to steal a very expensive boat and go on the run in the Bahamas," I remind her. "Being fugitives wanted by the law _and_ by Dyad is not exactly my idea of a relaxing lifestyle." Idly I trail my fingers in slow lazy brushstrokes over her back, limning the bas-relief of her spinous processes, the butterfly wings of her shoulderblades, the fine demarcations between long planes and columns of muscle.

Cosima purrs in pleasure, ducking her head to kiss a slow path along my jawline and down my throat. Tucking her thigh more firmly between my legs, she snuggles contentedly in the circle of my embrace. "Planning to stay in bed all day, are we?"

I look out at the featureless lint-gray sky, the tenaciously pattering rain. From our vantage point, I can hear but not see the pounding crash-hiss of increasingly choppy waves. Even the seagulls seem to have gone into hiding. Brushing a kiss over her forehead, I smile. "Unless you have any better ideas, yes." I kiss her eyelids in turn, giggling as her long lashes tickle my lips. "Besides, there is no rule that says we have to stay _in_ bed — there's always on, over, beside, beneath…" The somewhat flimsy bed frame quakes with her laughter and she clings more tightly to me. The slight weight of her pressing against my belly reminds me of more immediately urgent matters. "But first I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

"K," she murmurs, rolling over onto her side and stretching as I get to my feet. Admiring the feline display of sleek muscle gliding under pale olive skin, I kiss the round of her shoulder, then tuck the light covers over her to keep her from getting cold.

Nearly groaning with relief, I pee for what seems to be forever, reflecting that I must have drunk far too much last night. I brush my teeth thoroughly. Out of long habit, I check my skin for any signs of impending breakouts and am irrationally pleased to find none.

A peek into the bedroom verifies that Cosima is asleep, so I take advantage of the interlude for a quick shower. I don't think I will ever get used to the disagreeable sulfurous smell of the tap water here. _The Caribbean rather than Florida_ , I decide as I rinse the lather from my body, letting my thoughts meander into daydreams of an indolent life in the sun and sugar-white sand and endless water the color of impossibly clear turquoise.

Loosing my hair from its hastily fastened bun and rough-combing it with my fingers, I make a detour to the tiny kitchen. Something skitters under a counter when I flip on the light. I grimace reflexively and give the baseboard a kick, hoping — probably futilely — that our uninvited six-legged guest will not make a reappearance. Reaching into the refrigerator for a couple bottles of water, greedily I drink almost half of one on my way back to the bedroom.

The sight of Cosima's small form wrapped around my pillow makes me smile. Carefully I climb in to spoon her, moving gingerly to minimize the squealing protest of the springs. I fit my body around hers exactly, breasts pressed to her back, the bend of my hips snug against her enticingly firm rounded buttocks. With the back of my hand I sweep aside the curtain of her dreads so I can burrow my face into the hollow where her neck meets her shoulder, kissing the tender skin and inhaling her intriguing scent. Wrapping my arm securely around her waist, I rub my hand in slow circles over the expanse of her belly, the alluring curves of her hip and flank, delighting in the softness of her taut silky skin. Our bodies are joined so closely that I fancy I can actually sense the sleep draining out of her limbs. "Mmm." She wriggles herself more securely into my embrace. "Feeling me up while I'm unconscious? Didn't think you were that kind of girl, Dr. Cormier."

"Entirely your fault. Wanting you is like breathing for me."

"Silver tongued French minx." She grinds her buttocks against the damp curls covering my already clamoring sex and laughs. "Tickles."

Joining in her laughter, I dust tiny kisses down the back of her neck. Snaking my arm beneath her neck to support it, I move my other hand up to fondle one of her breasts, cradling its firm-soft warm weight in my palm and with my thumb and forefinger teasing its nipple to pebbled hardness. Little wordless noises of encouragement dribble from her throat, their specifics muffled by the pillow she is still clutching. Feeling her try to twist around, I tighten my arm about her gently but firmly to hold her in place, my mouth hot on her neck; she gives in easily to the silent persuasion. Unhurriedly I move to pay homage to her other breast, again working with my fingers and thumb until she is arching into my caress and whimpering.

"Bend your leg up, chérie," I whisper into her ear, encouraging her with gentle pressure of my hand to the back of her thigh. Eagerly she complies, opening herself to me with a small mewling sound. Sliding my hand down her belly, I tease the neatly trimmed wiry hairs of her mound until the not-so-subtle rocking of her hips tells me she is acutely aware of each follicle moving over sensitive flesh. I swirl my fingertips just outside the entrance to her whickering cunt, then paint her swelling lips with the tantalizingly fragrant pour of her come. Her hips undulate, silently begging, but I keep the dance of my fingers light and fleeting, wanting her to be so sensitized that even my barest touch sets visible tremors jolting through her.

The sounds of the rain and surf are getting louder but the roar of our growing desire is far more compelling. All of my senses are tuned to the responses of the soft and strong and supple woman in my arms and the ravenous need that urges us on. Cosima's movements are becoming increasingly animated and jerky. Her arousal floods my fingers even as the wind lashing through the open windows dapples us with cool fat raindrops that wetly stripe our skin and join the rivulets of sweat beginning to stream from our joined, writhing bodies.

She reaches out a hand behind her to clasp my thigh, using her grip to anchor her undulations. The hitching of her breath grows even more erratic, becoming lost altogether when I plunge two fingers deep inside her sopping cunt. Almost before she can react, I pull them out just as swiftly, then bring them to her mouth to let her lick away the shining traces of her desire. Freeing my hand, I slide it again between her legs, this time from behind, soaking it in her wetness and then sliding three fingers into her churning, clasping cunt. Ever so softly, I circle her asshole with my come-slick thumb, instantly making her whimper with pleasure.

I can feel her asshole throb with every tiniest shift, hear the hitching in her breath as the sensations slither up her spine. Pressing the pad of my thumb against her tight little pucker, it unfolds easily to let me in. Her breath quickens, her moans thickening as I slide inside her just past the first knuckle, enough to gain purchase on the squirming rim of her muscular ring.

Cosima's hips rock with more intent, seeking release but finding no obliging friction for her clit. Deliberately I slow my movements to a barely perceptible pulse, rubbing together my thumb and fingers through the thin wall that separates them. "Shhh, mon amour," I murmur, kissing along the delicate shell-like edge of her ear until she shivers. "Doucement. Let it come to you."

The drawn out moan that spills from her lips is the most arousing sound I have ever heard. Every fiber of my being is alive with little sparking twitches. With some difficulty I refrain from crushing my own weeping sex against her buttocks, instead doing my best to focus on her and absorbing the strain of the tension building within her core as the torment of my fingers spirals her higher. Kissing every millimeter of her skin within reach, nuzzling at the tiny wispy curling hairs at the nape of her neck, I lose track of how long I keep her cunt suckling hungrily at my fingers, her ass clutching in syncopated beats around my thumb. It is only when her hips are helplessly quivering and grinding that I relent and slide my little finger through her turgid folds to rest next to the bursting ripe swell of her clit. Swiping the flat of my finger back and forth across the rigidly engorged little shaft, I flick it with hard jolting pulses that rapidly make her shake with tautening desire. Hoarse panting gives way to a keening wail as she twists and shakes and convulses against me like a madwoman. Stilling my little finger, I concentrate on working her with the rest of my hand, intent on stroking and wringing every iota of pleasure from her body.

Gasping, she goes limp, still wracked with random shudders. "Holy fucking shit, Dr. Cormier."

Small electric currents of want thread through me. Holding her close, I cup her protectively, the silky folds of her cunt swallowing my fingers, her ass fluttering and clenching around my thumb. I brush a soft kiss against her temple, tasting salt and breathing in the indefinable but unmistakable essence that is Cosima's. "How do you feel, chérie?"

She shivers. "Good. No, more than good. Like, _so_ far beyond good." Turning her head, she captures my lips in an awkward but wholehearted kiss, breaking away before the strain in her neck becomes too much and letting her head fall back against my shoulder. Sweat and come magnify every contact of our skin so that I can feel each roiling thrum echoing through her.

"I'm very glad to hear it." Slowly, I kiss my way over the curve of her cheek.

"And as soon as I get some oxygen back into my brain, I'm gonna eat you out and chase down every drop of your come I can find. 'Cause I can smell how turned on you are right now, babe." Softly heavy in my arms, I can feel her starting to slip into a light doze. "Give me a minute, though. Like, none of my limbs seems to be working."

I chuckle, burying my mouth in the varied textures of her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Fucking better not," she mumbles.


	20. Just Grease it Up Again

**Just Grease it Up Again**

It's one of those nights when the bar's practically running on autopilot, everything smooth and under control. I'm keeping an eye on things but haven't had to step in. No one's in the weeds, not even Noreen, the new server. None of the regulars is fall-down drunk yet and the usual weeknight crowd of after-work white collars letting off steam are rowdy but not obnoxious. It's steady but reasonably slow enough that I don't even mind the scruffy uni students camping in the booths nursing their cheap shitty beers and surfing on the wi-fi signal from the coffee shop next door.

You can feel the energy in the place instantly spike and start humming at a more intense level when they walk in.

Cosima, I recognize right away. She's been in a few times with Felix and Sarah. She and Sarah look enough alike that I wasn't surprised to learn that they're sisters. And she's pretty distinctive in her own right. Gotta say I wasn't sure about the dreads at first. With most white girls it comes across as an affectation. Cultural appropriation ain't pretty, you know, and besides, the texture of the hair's usually wrong so most of them wind up looking pretty janky. But hers are nicely done, neat and tight and shiny, and I have to admit they suit the funky-eclectic vibe she's rocking. She's like catnip, that one. The smile, the laid-back California girl thing, the bod in those clingy little outfits... shit, I wouldn't be averse to a roll in the hay. Even when Dev isn't out of town with his band.

The blonde she's with is gorgeous. And it wouldn't take my degree in psychology to know that they're _together_ together, not with the constant touching and kissing and eye-fucking. Not to mention the hickeys and what I'm pretty sure are teeth marks all over their necks. Even in just a plain black tanktop and faded jeans, she's almost painfully beautiful. And damn, that hair.

They're so obviously hot for each other, it's kind of hard to look away.

Finally they manage to shake off their hormonal haze and remember where they are and why they're here. Cosima gives me a wave, points toward a corner booth and makes a little writing gesture in the air. I nod and wave back, getting a huge smile and a thumbs-up in return. The blonde slings an arm around Cosima's shoulders, Cosima slips her arm around the blonde's waist; despite the difference in height, they fit together like puzzle pieces as they stroll over to the booth and scoot in. Sitting side by side, of course, holding hands under the table with their bodies in contact from the shoulder all the way down to where Cosima's ankle is hooked around the blonde's lower leg.

"Don't even think about it," I say to Noreen before she can slide out from behind the bar. Probably wants a better look, like everybody else in this place right now. She shoots me a disgruntled glare and then thinks better of it when I give her the eyebrow; she shrugs, going back to her sidework. Good girl. I try not to smirk at Eliot as I head over. "Perks of being the owner, kid," he stage-whispers to her, loud enough that I know he's making sure I can hear him. He's a smartass, but he's a damned good barback so he knows I won't rag him too hard.

Cosima's free hand is flying around, making shapes and drawing designs in the air as she talks. Like every time I've seen her before, I appreciate how well toned and defined her arms are. There's no way she doesn't know how good she looks in her sleeveless dress.

And then I get a real good load of the woman she's with. Jesus fuck. Seeing her across the room, I'd thought the blonde was beautiful, but that doesn't even begin to describe the stunning effect she has up close. Face nearly bare, with maybe a touch of eyeshadow and a slick of lipstick, skin flushed with that glow that says they've probably been fucking for hours. The way she's looking at Cosima makes me suddenly envious and massively turned on at the same time.

"Nice to see you again, Cosima. What can I get for you ladies tonight?"

Cosima smiles at the blonde, who smiles back at her and makes a "go ahead" gesture. "Do you still have that flowering herbal tea, the really pretty jasmine-y one?"

"Yep. And for you, miss...?"

"Delphine Cormier." She turns those huge eyes on me, giving me her full attention like I'm the most fascinating person she's ever met. The double-barreled impact of those eyes and that voice is something else and I have to stop myself from gawping like a landed fish. The accent doesn't hurt, either. Or that face. Or that body. Or holy shit that hair. Automatically I reach for the hand she's holding out and shake it, reminding myself just in time to let go before she thinks I'm some kind of a creepy, stalkery idiot. Long slender fingers, stronger grip than I would have guessed to look at her. Not as soft, either. "You're going to think I'm pretentious and annoying."

It's really fucking hard not to get lost in those eyes. "Try me."

"I'd like a Sazerac, please."

Okay, I wasn't expecting that. Not that I'd ever let on to a customer that she's surprised me. "You got it."

She tilts her head. "Real absinthe, I hope?"

For a second I'm distracted by the shift in the light playing over her hair. _Cool your jets, Fontana_. "Just cracked a new bottle of Duplais Verte last week. None of that crappy radioactive-green stuff that even the college kids will only drink on a dare."

"She orders the same thing every time we go to a new bar," Cosima explains. "So far she's been disappointed — either they have shitty ingredients or they don't know what the hell they're doing when they make it. I told her that you would be different."

"Damn straight." I know a challenge when I hear one. "Tell you what. If you don't think mine's as good or better than you can get in New Orleans, it's on the house. Your tea, too," I add, nodding at Cosima.

"Dude, deal."

Knowing that they're watching me, I don't mind putting on a bit of a show, adding a little extra english to my moves, a few unnecessary spins and bumps to my bottles and tools.

I heat some filtered water and pour it over the tea bud in a preheated glass pot. While it's steeping, I grab two chilled Old Fashioned glasses out of the reach-in. I roll a splash of absinthe all around the inside of one of them, then pour the remaining drops out into the other glass and muddle them with a sugar cube. A few chunks of ice, 3oz of Knob Creek, two dashes of Peychaud's and a dash of Angostura, stir it all together, then quickly strain it back into the first glass. By the time I've draped a twist of lemon zest over the edge, Cosima's tea has steeped for just about exactly the right time and the blossom is fully opened.

Taking their drinks over on a tray, I set them down on the table along with bowls of roasted nuts and rosemary popcorn. "There you go, ladies." I double check to make sure everything is perfect, then turn on my heel and head back toward the bar.

"Aren't you going to hang around to see if she likes it?" Cosima calls after me.

"Don't need to," I say over my shoulder with a wink.

It's getting busy now, so I've got my hands full showing Noreen a more efficient way to build some of the more complicated drinks she's been learning, helping Eliot with inventory and keeping an eye on the level of the bottles on the speed rail, schmoozing the big spenders, not so subtly urging the campers to move on. By the time I get another break and check back in with Cosima and Delphine, their bodies are interwoven into a symmetrical shape, like one of those knots where you can't tell where one thread ends and the other begins.

I clear my throat. They pull away from their kiss with identical, almost sleepy expressions and blink up at me. "Same again?"

"Yeah, that'd be cool."

"I take it you approve of my version?" I say to Delphine, who blushes. Which doesn't make her more appealing at all, oh, no.

"Very much. I do have to confess that I've never actually been to New Orleans," she says, giving it the French pronunciation. "There's a bar in Paris that specializes in artisanal absinthe. A man I was dating at the time introduced me to Sazeracs there and I've been hooked ever since."

"Love affair with the drink lasted longer than the dude, huh?"

She smiles again at Cosima. "I seem to have found someone else much more to my tastes."

Lucky, lucky Cosima. "Right back with your order. Or anything else you guys can think of," I say with as much innuendo as I can get away with this side of creepy-stalkery.

There's that really cute thing she does with her tongue. "We're not, like, unicorn hunting or anything, but if we ever get there you'll be the first one we'll call."

Delphine looks a little lost. Cosima smirks and whispers, "Tell you later, babe."

I won't lie, I'm a tiny bit bummed that she's only kidding.

Business is picking up, so after I take them another round I stay busy making sure everyone's happy and being taken care of. We're cranking out orders, getting into a good rhythm, and Noreen and Eliot are finally meshing together like a seasoned team.

And then _they_ start dancing.

The bar's a little too small and narrow to have a proper dance floor, but that's never stopped Cosima before from getting her groove on if the mood strikes her when a song she likes is playing. I like watching her dance, the free-flowing expressiveness of her hands and arms, the way her body spins and sways and undulates to the music. But the only way to describe the way she's dancing with Delphine right now is "fucking with your clothes on."

Not that they're dry-humping or doing anything lewd. Every movement is just synced in that way that says they're in a really, really good place with each other physically.

I can feel the energy in the entire place ramping up as they dance. Cass the DJ catches on quickly. Though she'd have to be brain-dead not to, the way everyone is watching the two of them get lost in their own world. She keeps up the pace for a couple more songs, then drops the tempo way down. But not the temperature: I recognize the opening riff to "Drill Daddy Drill."

More people are dancing now and couples are necking all over the place, even some of the ones who just met. Whatever pheromones these two are putting out must be some kind of cosmic-level magnetic force. I can tell it's going to be a good night after all. Shit, maybe I should have them come in and make out whenever it's slow.

It gets busy enough that I almost don't notice for a while that they've slipped away from their booth. I've got Cosima's credit card on file so I'm not worried about her tab, but they've been gone long enough for me to finally realize where they are. And what they're probably up to.

Trying not to be too obvious about it, I drift over to hallway outside the restroom door and listen just long enough to hear "Oh, god, babe, yes, yes, right there! Fuuuuuck!" I grab the "Out of Order" standing sign and set it up, figuring I'll give them another ten minutes or so before I bust in on them. Hey, I'm all about going with the flow, giving in to the heat of the moment and all that, but I have a business to run and a bunch of thirsty customers who are going to be lining up to piss soon.

Thank goodness Cass is keeping the volume cranked. I can still hear the occasional hoarse scream or a random thump. Eliot and I deliberately avoid looking at each other because otherwise we're going to lose our shit laughing. La la la, nothing to see here, folks, move along.

Just then something crashes, a sound as loud and unexpected as a bomb and with about the same effect. Even the music hits a lull, like it's holding its breath. Conversations come to a sputtering halt. It's quiet enough that I can hear a muttered "Shit!" in the aftermath.

Eliot bows ironically and makes an exaggerated sweeping gesture with his hand. I roll my eyes at him, wipe my hands on a clean towel and head toward the restroom. Not bothering to knock, I pitch my voice loud enough for them to hear me but hopefully not carry across the bar. "You guys okay?"

"Yeah." I recognize Cosima's voice. "But, um... the stalls might have, um, kinda collapsed. Um. Sorry."

"Ainnhh, been meaning to replace those. Put the repair bill on your credit card?"

"Yes, please."

I start to go back to the bar, then think of something. "Hey, Cosima?"

Someone yips. I can hear panting. "Yeah?"

"That sink isn't fastened to the wall real securely. Don't knock it over, okay?"

"Oh. Uh. Thanks for the heads up."

"Yep. Another round?"

"Sure. Give us a minute?"

"You got it."

* * *

 _Just a little lighthearted and (I hope) fun update — honestly can't tell because I'm pretty damned loopy from jetlag right now. Actual smut will resume soon, rest assured._


	21. You Me and She

**You Me and She  
**

"Jeez. Should I go dig up some references and a copy of my resume?"

Delphine instantly looks like a puppy who's been whacked on the nose. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend you — "

"I'm not offended," I say quickly, feeling bad that she'd misread my tone. Reaching across the table, I rest my hand on hers, giving it a little squeeze before letting go. "Amused, mostly. Also flattered as hell, and kind of impressed by how much thought you've put into this. Gotta say, I've seen a bunch of Yes/No/Maybe lists in my time but this," I wave the stack of papers Delphine had handed me, "is probably the most comprehensive one I've ever come across." Not to mention, I'm intrigued as shit about some of their answers.

"See," Cosima elbows her in the ribs. "Told you she'd think you were a total dork. We're tandem hunting, babe, not conducting a job interview."

"No, no, it's okay, I get it. I mean, I've been approached by a _lot_ of couples. Hazard of the trade, you know. The vast majority of them are your bog-standard guy and his bi-curious girlfriend or wife. Maybe they've been stagnating a while, or they feel that something's missing, so they get the idea that a three-way is going to kick-start their relationship back into gear. Those are the ones I turn down without even having to think about it. People like that need to put in a ton of work to figure out if they should even still be with each other, let alone try swinging.

"But the fact that you two are willing to be upfront and honest and open about what you want, and the way you're approaching it? Is actually pretty refreshing and reassuring. Uh, Jase?" I say to our server, an old work buddy of mine, who comes up to the table and sets a small plate in front of each of us. I look down at what looks like a pile of tiny chubby deep-fried cigars surrounded by dots of brightly colored sauces. "Ernesto's trying to food-fuck me because he thinks it'll get him free drinks at my bar, isn't he?"

"Come on, Bobby, you know I'm just the messenger. This is a mixture of feta, ricotta and Parm with spinach, onion and garlic in phyllo. Enjoy, ladies."

Cosima pops a whole cigar into her mouth and immediately puffs out her cheeks, sucking air in and out. "Shi'! Hot hot hot!" Sweat breaks out over her face. The second the melted cheese is cool enough to eat, though, she starts chewing and making little happy humming sounds. "Jezhush chrish." She gulps at her beer and then blots her face with a napkin. "Tell your pal Ernesto he's welcome to bribe me any time."

Carefully I sink my teeth through perfectly crispy outer layers into a flood of rich salty goo studded with little bursts of mellow sweetness from the bits of sautéed garlic and onion. Even though I'm already ridiculously full, I have to stop myself from inhaling the whole plate. Goddammit. These are worth at least a shot or two of Ernesto's favorite Avión Reserva 44. Bastard.

Laughing at Cosima, Delphine dabs her fork into each sauce to taste them one at a time, then neatly cuts off the end of a cigar. She spears the piece and swipes it through an orange dot, the apricot reduction with ancho. Her eyes close as she savors the bite; the tip of her tongue flicks out to capture something from the corner of her mouth and her throat ripples smoothly.

Watching Delphine eat is kind of mesmerizing. No, check that. Watching her do anything is kind of mesmerizing.

Those enormous Bambi eyes slowly open. She startles, then smiles reflexively when she realizes I'm staring at her. I don't look away. Neither does she.

"Please don't feel pressured in any way," she says quietly. "There are no strings and no obligations. And we will understand if you decline. But we both find you extremely attractive, and if you give us the chance, we would love to spend an evening discovering just how good we can make you feel."

* * *

"Damn."

"Yeah, good line, huh? They were so earnest and dorky and sweet."

The bed shakes as Dev laughs silently. His cock finally softens and slips out; I can feel his come mixed with mine dripping slowly onto the sheets. I flop over to snuggle halfway on top of him, settling my head on his shoulder. He tightens his arm around me and kisses my temple. Running my hand over the hard muscles of his chest, I play with the coarse but soft hair and the smoothness of his skin. God, he smells so good. Sex and sweat and the smell of _him_. Sometimes I think it's his smell that I miss more than anything when he's on the road.

"What the hell does 'valprehend' mean?" he says, flipping through first Delphine's and then Cosima's list. His eyebrows fly upward a few times, probably at the same places mine had.

"That was a new one to me, too. Cosima explained it. Said it meant that you're actively grabbing something with your cunt or ass, not just passively being penetrated. Hadn't really thought about it before but it makes sense. Especially with something like getting fucked up the butt, or being fisted, because if you're doing it right the fuck-ee is no less involved than the fuck-er."

"Huh. Yeah." He drops the papers onto the nightstand and slides his hand up to knead the back of my neck. "So please tell me you're gonna go for it. 'Cause it sounds like you'd be crazy not to."

"Fuck, that feels good. Yeah, we're on for Saturday night. Called in Angelo to cover. He's gonna open for me on Sunday, too. Seriously, you should see how hot these women are."

"Got pics?"

"They're customers, babe. I don't go around taking pictures of the people who come into my bar. Even the hot ones."

"Aw, man." His hand cradles my scalp, scritching lightly with his nails and making me purr. "I don't suppose — "

"And no, I'm not videoing it. Not even for you."

"Bitch."

"Perv." I bite down on the side of his neck. "But what I will do is tell you all about it when you're back in town. In excruciating detail."

"Fucking better."

"Hey, Dev?" I say after a while. "You're cool with the blood testing thing? They're doing it too, to be fair."

"Yeah, no problem. I don't have to leave for the Montreal gig until tomorrow afternoon, so we can go to this Dyad place in the morning before you have to open."

"That's what I figured."

He kisses me, soft and slow. "You know you're the only one I bareback with, right?"

"I know. Same here." My come is still all over his face. I lick the side of his cheek to taste myself; stubble rasps my tongue. "Ooohhh, look who's awake again." I watch his cock uncurl and swell and rear up until the dark red head bulges free of its hood. Wrapping my hand around the thick heavy shaft, I can feel it pulsing and jerking as I pump him to full hardness. "Three times in one night? Shit, maybe I should pick up lesbian couples more often."

"Won't get any argument from me." Rolling over, he braces on his elbows and kisses me deeply. His hard-on nudges at my hip, already leaking pre-cum. "How do you want it?"

"Drill me into the ground, babe."

* * *

I won't lie, I'm a little nervous. But, I decide as I examine myself critically from every angle in the mirror, it's an excited nervous. Not an "Oh God what the hell was I thinking?" nervous. Big difference.

"Wear what you usually wear at the bar," Delphine had said. "You always look nice."

Not that I don't look good in my standard work outfit, but a tanktop and jeans are not exactly going to set anyone's pants on fire. Which is pretty much the opposite of the effect I'm going for tonight.

It's not hard to figure out which of my assets to highlight, because I've caught both Delphine and Cosima staring at my chest more than a few times. Takes less than no time at all to pick out a tight fitting black dress with a deeply scooped neckline that shows off the girls. Doesn't hurt that it hugs my ass nicely, too. After a few seconds' debate I opt for stockings and a garter belt, with nothing underneath, and put on my favorite pair of vaguely steampunk lace-up ankle boots.

I check my makeup. Waterproof mascara and eyeliner, the hideously expensive stuff. A little powder, also waterproof. Nothing too elaborate and "done," but it looks good and I know from past experience that this shit will stay in place no matter what. I do one last slow twirl in front of the mirror. "I'd do you," I finger-gun my reflection with a wink, then head out.

Looking around the lobby of their building, I realize I have no idea what it is they do for a living. Sometimes Cosima calls Delphine "Dr. Cormier," but that always seems like a private joke. All I know is they work together and their work involves something incomprehensible having to do with science. Whatever it is, it obviously pays. A lot.

They're waiting for me, standing side by side with an arm around each other's waist, when the elevator opens directly onto the entranceway to their place. The business owner's part of my brain can't help doing some real estate math, calculating the value of a penthouse floor-through unit in this part of town and coming up with _pretty fucking astronomical_. Vanessa Daou's "Zipless" plays in the background. I immediately recognize one of Felix's paintings, which takes up most of the wall behind them. Might be kind of irrational but seeing it makes the butterflies in my stomach settle down, like when you unexpectedly run into a good friend in an unfamiliar place. "Nice shack."

Cosima grins. "Keeps the rain out." She takes my coat and gives me the once-over. "Dude, you look hot as fuck."

"So do you. Both of you." I mean it. Cosima's wearing a sleeveless minidress in a rich deep peacock blue that really sets off her coloring and picks up the green flecks in her eyes; the dress fits her like a second skin.

And Delphine... goddamn. Simple sheer black lace shell over a black camisole. Black jeans that cling to every curve and long line of her legs. My imagination is working overtime figuring out how she even got them on over the log that reaches halfway down her thigh.

The butterflies start to dubstep in time to the music.

"Hello, Bobby," says Delphine, smiling at me. "We're very happy to see you. But please be assured, if you change your mind at any time, you can say so."

I would have to be knocked unconscious, bound, gagged and chained, and paralyzed from my hair down before I'd change my mind. And even then it'd be a real fight. "No way." My voice comes out a little strangled. "I've been thinking about this all week. Might have leered inappropriately at a customer or two." _Hundred_.

Delphine laughs and erases the space between us until I can feel the heat of her body, smell the trace of her perfume. I have no idea what it is, but it's got some kind of magical effect with her body chemistry that's making me dizzy. Or could be that's just her. She smiles at Cosima and then at me again and cups my face in her hands. "May I?"

I nod, not trusting my voice again.

Bending her head, she kisses me gently. Not demanding, just the simple contact and the tiny movements of her lips against mine. It's enough to send my pulse racing and an instant rush of wetness to my cunt.

Cosima moves in from behind. Soft lips nuzzle around the edge of my ear and in random paths over the back of my neck, making me shiver. Lightly her hands glide up and down my waist and settle just beneath my breasts. Her touch ratchets up the tension I've been feeling all day and I feel my nipples begin to strain at the fabric of my dress just from anticipation. "Wanna move this someplace a little more comfortable?" she whispers.

Probably not the time to mention that I'm not exactly _un_ comfortable right now. Still, my knees are getting a little wobbly; I wouldn't turn down a horizontal surface. And a lot less clothing. "Sure."

She leads me past a large open kitchen — we walk by the darkened space too quickly for me to take in all the details but I get an impression of masses of stainless steel and light wood — to a wide room straight out of a designer showcase. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see a ginormous terrace looking out onto the sunset spilling like red-gold liquid over the city. A long gas fireplace runs almost the width of one of the narrower walls. I find myself seated in the middle of the huge overstuffed sofa. "Would you like some wine?" asks Cosima, who goes over to a well stocked wet bar across the room.

"Yeah, that'd be good."

"Any preference?"

"Surprise me."

But Delphine's the one who surprises me. While Cosima fiddles with a waiter's key and glasses, Delphine drags over a big ancient copper jam pan filled with steaming water and positions it on the floor in front of me. Kneeling on a cushion beside it, she smiles up at me and gestures. "May I?"

I barely manage to keep my jaw from dropping like a dumbass. "You know, if you're going to keep asking permission, I'm gonna start feeling like I should write thank you notes and send flowers afterward. After everything we've talked about, I think it's pretty safe to say that I'm fine with anything you want to do tonight. Okay?"

Maybe it's a trick of the low lighting but her eyes seem to change colors when she smiles. "Okay. The same applies to us, too. Thank you, chérie," she says, taking the glass Cosima hands her, swirling it a bit and sniffing deeply. She takes a sip and makes an appreciative noise before setting the glass on an end table.

I'm not hugely knowledgeable about wine; beer and spirits are way more my thing. The wines we carry at the bar are fine but they're mostly the regional distributor's recommendations for what sells the best. Copying Delphine's actions as Cosima curls up next to me on the sofa, I roll the ruby-colored liquid over my tongue. The flavor reminds me a bit of ripe tart cherries, with a hint of warm spiciness as I exhale. It's very smooth and has almost none of the mouth-puckering dryness I usually associate with red wine. "Wow, that's nice. Not even going to try to guess what that is, though."

"Hey, your guess is as good as mine. I'm a sucker for a bottle that has a cool label or a clever name. Delphine's the one who actually knows shit." Sliding a hand behind my neck, she pulls me into a kiss, teasing my lips with the tip of her tongue until I let her in.

I think I have an idea for the bar's next wine-tasting event.

When we come up for air, Delphine is watching us. The expression on her face is unreadable but her eyes are wide and dark, her mouth slightly open. Giving herself a little shake, she unlaces my boots and sets them aside, then glides her hands slowly up my legs. Without having to look, she undoes the clips holding up my stockings, then one by one carefully rolls them down and puts them near my boots.

The water is pleasantly hot, not painfully so. Delphine reaches for a couple of tiny bottles sitting on the end table and adds a few drops from each. Immediately I smell rosemary and peppermint; after a minute, I swear I can taste them as well. Picking up my left foot under water, she starts knuckling her fist into the arch. My cunt is pouring and it's all I can do not to melt.

"Amazing, isn't she?" Cosima kisses a slow trail down my neck.

It's getting really fucking hard not to grind my thighs together. "Ohhh, yeah. Let me tell you, for someone who's on her feet for twelve hours or more a day, a foot rub is _way_ sexier than porn."

Delphine laughs. "It was Cosima's idea. I'm only too delighted that I can be of service."

Serviced by a blonde French goddess. _I am **totally** going to disgrace myself in about a minute. Hope this sofa is Scotchgarded._

"Um... I like the maslin pan," I say, trying to keep from oozing off the cushions. Cosima's nibbling at the soft spot below my ear isn't exactly helping. "My nonna had one almost exactly like it. When the red oranges were in season, she would make dozens of jars of the most incredible marmalade."

"In Sicily?"

"Yeah. When I was in school, I'd visit her almost every spring break to help her."

"That's wonderful. This was Mémé's. My grandmother's. She grew all sorts of fruit — apples, peaches, plums, berries of all kinds. Much of it, she sold in the local markets, but she always preserved enough to last the household at least a year."

Strong thumbs dig into my heel. Delphine looks up when I can't hold back a groan. God, that face... Her eyes go huge as she watches Cosima kissing every bit of exposed skin at my chest, paying extra attention to my tattoo and then my cleavage. My pulse is hammering.

"Lean forward a little?" I say to Delphine. Her eyebrows flicker but she gracefully complies. "I've wanted to do this for months," I explain, running my fingers through her hair, stroking it, making loose fists in it and letting the silky curls slip free.

She smiles almost shyly, leaning her head into my hand and rubbing against it like a cat. Fuck.

"Magical stuff, her hair." Cosima sucks hard at the top of one breast and admires the mark she's left on my skin. "Gotta warn you, though, it kinda gets everywhere."

Everywhere?

"I know what you're thinking," she sing-songs into my ear.

Abandoning Delphine's hair, I tangle my hands into Cosima's dreads — which are softer and less coarse than I'd expected — and kiss her roughly. She responds with the slide of her tongue against mine and little whimpering mewling sounds and exactly the right pressure of her teeth nibbling at my lower lip.

"Tell me why we're still wearing clothes?" I manage to say even though all the air seems to have left my lungs.

"Fucking good question."

Cosima finds the tiny hidden zipper at the back of my dress and tugs it all the way down while Delphine dries my feet with a heated towel and moves aside the big pan. They both help me up, steadying me. My dress puddles on the floor, leaving me in just the garter belt with its little straps dangling. Cosima slides it down past my hips while Delphine picks up my dress and drapes it neatly over an arm of the sofa. For a moment I forget to breathe at the sight of them running their eyes up and down my body, looking at me like I'm the best Christmas present they've ever gotten.

"Beautiful," says Delphine softly, reaching for my cheek and letting the tips of her fingers slowly trail along my neck and shoulder and down the length of my arm.

"Hella." Cosima gives her a kiss, then takes me by the hand over by the fireplace, letting me stretch out on the thick-piled deeply padded rug. "Look how her skin absorbs the firelight and kinda glows, like Carrara marble." She moves to lie on her side beside me. The contrast between my nakedness and her clothing is driving me crazy. "Raise your arms," she says to me. I take my time, arching and frankly showing off because I'm enjoying their reactions.

Cosima's hand strokes from one wrist down the inside of my arm all the way down to the center of my chest, just barely grazing the sides of my breasts until my breath catches. Moving downward, she draws lazy patterns over the lower curve of my belly. My skin is on fire wherever her fingers brush. "Delphine," she says. Her voice is husky and half an octave lower than usual.

"Yes, Cosima?"

"That pussy isn't gonna eat itself."

They exchange a look — probably another of their private jokes — and then before I realize it there's a throw pillow under my butt and a gorgeous blonde kissing her way up the insides of my thighs.

"You have the loveliest cunt, Bobby, all pink and red against cream. And so wet. Were you thinking about how my cock will feel buried in it when I fuck you?"

Delphine Cormier has a potty mouth. File under _Unffff!_

The slow and gentle and soft cadence of her kisses gets short-circuited by Cosima nipping at my breasts, letting her dreads trail over my chest and belly as she goes back and forth until I am practically lunging toward her. I feel Delphine shifting upward, tucking my legs into the bend of her arms to spread them wider. Her hands rest against my inner thighs and she uses her thumbs to peel me open. At the first touch of her tongue I have no control over the jerking beg of my hips. She traces a path from my taint upwards, then moves in slow deliberate circles, sometimes swirling lightly around the very tip of my clit, sometimes folding her tongue around the whole thing and rocking it from side to side. Every tiny movement is delicious torture, sending electric jolts of pleasure zinging through my body. I want so much to just _crush_ her face into my crotch and against my clit, which is throbbing so hard it's probably glowing in the dark. Instead I shut my eyes tight and force myself to concentrate on the feel of her dancing tongue, the contrast of the cool brush of her hair and the warmth of her breath against my skin.

"Don't tease, babe. She's more than ready for you."

Her lips and tongue close over my clit, licking and sucking hard. _Thank fucking Jesus_ floats through my brain just before the first convulsions snap me almost in half. Her mouth keeps working me while Cosima rakes my nipples with the edges of her teeth, like it's a contest between them to see who can make me the most insane. As far as I'm concerned, they're both winning. Or I am, because I can't stop coming.

"Delphine!" I don't recognize my voice, gasping and ragged over the rapid thundering of my pulse. "Need you inside me." Blinking behind my fogged-up glasses as random shudders jag through my body, I watch her sit up and fumble with her zipper. "Wait!"

Delphine freezes in place with her hand reaching into the opening of her fly.

"Clothes off. I want to feel all of you."

The deer-in-headlights expression on her face melts into a relieved smile as she yanks the tails of her tanktop free. Before I can blink she has it pulled over her head and tossed onto an armchair.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. Let me enjoy this."

Cosima rolls to her feet laughing and gives Delphine a hand up. They wrap each other into a kiss, bodies melting together and hands caressing and for a moment I know they're lost in their own little world. But then Cosima breaks away, moving behind Delphine and turning her so that they're both facing me.

Hands slide under the hem of Delphine's camisole, gliding past her ribcage and pushing the flimsy scrap of black silk up and off over her outstretched arms. Cosima works the little swells of Delphine's breasts with their dark rigid nipples that I suddenly want to bite. The hands smooth their way along the curve of the ribcage and down the long flat belly — which I notice is dotted with freckles that absolutely need to be kissed — unfastening the button at the waistband and skinning tight denim past the curve of the hips to reveal a black leather harness framing a neatly trimmed bush and a massive cock that has already left its imprint on her thigh. She steps out of her jeans once they hit the floor and kicks them out of the way. Cosima leans around Delphine to grin at me, baring nearly all her teeth and arching an eyebrow. "See anything you like?"

 _Only everything I could possibly want. Fuck me_. "Oh, yeah."

I tuck one arm under my neck for support. Delphine's eyes follow my other hand as I play with my breasts. Her teeth catch her lower lip and her breathing quickens visibly when I move downward to soak my fingers with a lazy visit to my still-pulsing cunt. "What're you waiting for, cowgirl? Mount up."

She swallows, then kisses Cosima before kneeling between my legs, nudging them farther apart. Her nostrils flare; I know she can see and smell how incredibly turned on I am. She guides the head of her cock into the entrance of my cunt, made even easier by the angle of the firm cushion under my hips. Hands gather my thighs, encouraging them to wrap my legs around her waist as she fills me with a single smooth controlled thrust. Using my hold to pull her even deeper inside me, I caress her lower back and the churning muscles of her buttocks with my foot. "Fuuuuuuck."

My unbelievably wet cunt sucks hungrily and noisily at the heavy thick hardness, matching the movements of her hips that have not stopped rocking and grinding and figure-8-ing. "Doing all right?" she asks innocently.

"Any more 'all right' and your cock is going to come up out of my throat. Oh my fucking hot damn."

Delphine turns her head to see what I'm looking at and smiles ferally. Cosima, naked except for her glasses and perfectly comfortable under our admiring scrutiny. Beautiful tits, flat muscled belly, subtly sculpted arms and legs... and a mound that's been shaved completely bare. I can just see the tip of her clit, bright red and shining and peeking out between the swelling of her outer lips.

Hadn't expected _that_. Not that I'm complaining.

"C'mere," I beckon her with an obscene waggle of my tongue. "Saved you a seat."

Her teeth gleam white in the dimming light. She saunters over, carefully removes my glasses, bends to give me a quick kiss, then straddles my head facing Delphine, with her knees digging into the pillow on either side of me. I can hear them kissing as I stroke the defined muscles of her thighs, taut and quivering with the effort to keep herself upright without smothering me. Swiping my tongue through her folds, I wallow in the sweet salty musky taste of her and the feeling of her moans reverberating through all of our joined bodies. At the same time Delphine begins to move again, slow swiveling thrusts that make my cunt clench every time she grinds the base of her cock against my clit. Clumsy at first, we find a rhythm that quickly sends me over the edge again and again, my body jerking in a frenzy, howls muffled against the slick pour of Cosima's cunt. Her thighs are trembling uncontrollably and I can feel the tension gathering in her asscheeks and the small of her back. I curl my tongue around her fat, rigid clit, lashing and sucking until she is bucking and grinding into my face. She loses her balance and tumbles over onto her side, thrashing like a tarpon and whimpering. Still spiked on Delphine's cock, I twist my upper body around to follow Cosima, bracing with my elbows and never letting up on her clit until she pushes my mouth away from her with shaking hands.

I feel Delphine pull out; even in this incredibly awkward position my cunt is reluctant to let her go. Straightening my legs and stretching, I rest my head on Cosima's thigh. Beside us, Delphine sits back on her heels, her cock hanging heavy and dripping with my come. "Merde," she whispers, looking horrified.

Cosima immediately reaches out a hand to caress her hip. "What's wrong, babe?"

"I'm so sorry, Bobby, I forgot to ask if you were hungry. Mémé would be so ashamed of me."

I crane my neck to squint up at Cosima. We both break up laughing at the same time.

* * *

In the kitchen we perch naked on padded barstools eating an incredible assortment of things. Asparagus, mushrooms and goat cheese in puff pastry shells. Guacamole with tortilla chips. Deviled eggs with chunks of smoked salmon. Fall-apart-tender cubes of short rib in an incredibly rich red wine sauce on top of slices of grilled polenta. Herb-roasted figs draped with slices of duck prosciutto so thin you can see through them. Perfectly runny stinky blue cheese with a drizzle of delicate acacia honey. "We weren't sure what you might like," says Delphine almost apologetically, "so we made a bit of everything." She offers me a plate of tiny buttered toasts topped with foie gras and little clear squares of what turns out to be Sauternes gelée. It is decadence on decadence and it may be the most delicious thing I have ever had in my mouth. Food-wise, anyway.

"Oh, my god. You know," I devour another toast, "if things don't work out at your job, you might want to consider catering."

"Catering in the nude for mini orgies? I'd totally be down with that. Here, try one of these."

The warm golden tartlet Cosima hands me contains a sticky tangle of caramelized onion topped with melted Gruyère, with an unexpected sharp bite from a hidden dab of coarse mustard. "Holy shit, that's good."

"That's what _she_ said," says Cosima, leaning over to kiss me.

* * *

"Jesus fuck, you _both_ had to be size queens?"

Cosima slowly circles her hips, small movements that let my body adjust to the substantial bulk of her cock inside me. I can't help moaning as it bumps heavily against Delphine's cock lodged in my ass. I am so unbelievably filled _._ "Are you complaining?" she teases. "'Cause that ocean pouring from your cunt says otherwise. Anyway, I seem to recall that you were the one who said to me, _and I quote_ , 'Back door's occupied, but the front door's wide open.' Not too squished, babe?" she says to Delphine, who's lying directly beneath me.

"I'm fine, chérie." Her voice is slightly muffled. I feel her nuzzling at the back of my neck, making the little hairs stand on end with the brush of her lips and warm breath. "It's rather difficult to move, though."

"Don't worry, Bobby and I can take care of that part. You get to come along for the ride." For emphasis, she sinks her cock deeper within me; my cunt and ass clutch helplessly out of sync. An involuntary shudder works its way through the long slender body under me and a groan wrenches from her throat as my hips move in slow grinding circles. Thick cock rubs against even thicker cock through my straining walls. Slowly, carefully, I lift my legs to tangle them with Cosima's, running my hands up and down the shifting muscles of her back and squirming on top of Delphine until we figure out how to move together without disturbing the alignment of our bodies.

We stay suspended like that for a long time, all of us interlocked like puzzle pieces and reeking of sweat and sex. It's like a little island of calm in the middle of the storm of sweet fury that has been driving our fucking all night. Delphine's cock pushes and tugs at my fluttering, spasming asshole with every subtle pulse of her hips, Cosima's slowly works back and forth and around in the wet slick of my cunt. The only other sounds are the muted rustle of tangled bedding, the shredded rise and fall of our breath, the slinky beat of music my punch-drunk brain doesn't recognize. Sweat gradually dries, mingling with the heavier slide of come and lube.

Delphine's hands drift up from their hold around my waist to surround my breasts, teasing the hardened peaks of my nipples between her thumbs and fingers until I am arching into her touch. Cosima carefully leans in, her expression soft, and kisses me. "Doing okay?" she murmurs against my lips.

The shift in her position allows her to rock the base of her cock against my clit. Deep tremors are building again and each subtle stroke sucks the breath from my lungs. "Better than okay. Delphine, I still can't believe you managed to get that hog up my ass. I mean, Dev's about the same size, but there's a lot more give to a guy's cock, you know?"

"Dude, I totally get it. The first time she butt-fucked me, I came like a freight train for, like, days. Or maybe I just passed out. Kinda hard to remember when you're convulsing like an epileptic whore."

"Shit, don't make me laugh like that — one of us is gonna rupture something."

Coherent thought and the ability to speak instantly abandon me as she slips her hand between us to start fucking my clit with her fingers. At the same time, Delphine's hands tighten on my breasts, pinching and rolling my nipples and drawing an undignified squawk from somewhere in my throat.

"You were saying?" Cosima gives me an archly innocent grin and flicks the flat of a finger hard across my clit, making me gasp. "What's that? I can't hear you." She does it again. The muscles in my legs are trembling and I cling more tightly to her, digging my fingers into her back. Still working my breasts, Delphine kisses her way down the nape of my neck and sinks her teeth in where it joins my shoulder, then soothes the sting of the bite with the tip of her tongue. Every little motion of her cock sends up a sympathetic throbbing in my cunt. Filled and touched and tormented from every possible angle, I am barely able to breathe, lightheaded from the intensity of the sensations racing through my body.

The wet slipping and heaving of our bodies echoes through the room, and the rising scent of purely animal arousal fills the air as we get caught up in the rhythm again. Cosima abandons my clit and raises up on her arms, tilting her weight and shoveling herself into me with deeper, harder thrusts. Her jaw is set in a snarl, every muscle in her chest and arms standing out as she slams her cock into me. My fingers sink bloodless into her shoulders, anchoring me every time I crash against her.

I feel it begin somewhere deep in my bowels, rippling outward and setting off tremors in my impossibly tight cunt and ass that trigger first Delphine and then Cosima into their own violent release. They keep moving inside me, rolling us all over the edge one after another. Sweat sheets off of us like rain as we shudder and wail helplessly, no longer able to tell which one of us is coming and where one begins or another ends.

Sprawling heavily on top of me, Cosima's head comes to rest beside mine, her face tucked into the curve of my neck. Unable to talk, I let my body speak its gratitude in kisses, craning my neck around to capture Delphine's mouth with mine, then tasting salt against the smooth skin at Cosima's temple. Quivering uncontrollably in their embrace, I let my legs' hold on Cosima fall slack while Delphine's hands soothe the trembling of my muscles. The frantic pounding of my pulse gradually slows and the last thought that dribbles back into my brain before I drift into unconsciousness is _Holy fucking shit_.

* * *

"Bobby?"

Slowly I crack open my eyes. It takes me a minute to remember where I am and exactly why I am sore all over in the best possible way. And utterly but happily exhausted. Delphine sits on the edge of the bed, smiling down at me and almost glowing in the dim light of the vast bedroom. It's hard to reconcile this soft and gentle presence with the ferocious perpetrator of who knows how many mind-blowing orgasms for who knows how many hours.

I look around but Cosima is nowhere in sight. It occurs to me that out of all the things we discussed leading up to tonight, what we would do immediately afterward never really came up.

Shit. Preemptive strike might be the best way to go. I reach out a hand to lightly stroke up and down Delphine's thigh. "Hey. I've had an amazing time, but I'd better get going — "

"Please stay," she says immediately. "It's far too late to let you leave now. You can borrow whatever you need for the night. There is more than enough room in this bed for three, or you can sleep in a spare room if you would prefer. And we will make you breakfast."

She strokes my hair, scritching at my scalp. Well, when she puts it _that_ way... "Okay."

"Good." There's that almost shy smile again. "You're welcome to use my bathroom to freshen up. I'll think you'll find everything you might need."

The bathroom is, no shit, almost as big as my entire studio apartment. Delphine has left me a brand new toothbrush as well as the option of an oversized t-shirt. I can't stand wearing anything in bed, though, so I leave the shirt where it sits neatly folded on the counter. While I'm brushing my teeth, I contemplate the little rubber ducky sitting on the edge of the pool-sized bathtub and remind myself to ask them why it's wearing a blindfold. My crotch is almost solid glue thanks to all the dried come and lube and I am sticky with sweat, so I take a quick shower after a few minutes of studying the incredibly complicated control panel on the wall.

When I return to the bedroom, Delphine is lying near the middle of the ginormous bed with Cosima tucked against her left side, which seems to be their usual arrangement. There's just enough light coming through the huge windows for me to be able to see Delphine smile and beckon to me with her right hand. She holds up the edge of the duvet. I leave my glasses on her nightstand and slide in, scooting closer. I have to squirm around to find the right fit but I wind up snuggled against her with my head resting on her shoulder and my arm draped across her waist, just below Cosima's arm which is nestled under her breasts.

"Hey, Delphine?" says Cosima sleepily.

"Yes, chérie?"

"N equals 2."

They both start giggling. "Um. Do I wanna know what that's about?"

Cosima places her hand on my arm, rubbing gently. "Nothing bad, dude, I promise."

Soft lips kiss my forehead. "She was saying that you're the second woman I've ever been with."

"Really?" I pop my head up to stare incredulously at Delphine. "Sure as hell could've fooled me."

She urges me to lie back down. Burrowing into her neck, I inhale, wanting to get drunk on her scent. _Our_ scent. _Fuck. I think I'm a little in love with these two._

* * *

Eliot gives me a sarcastic golf clap when I finally roll in at well past 3:00 in the afternoon. I am full of pheromones and pancakes, so I'm feeling way too good to do anything more threatening than give him the Trudeau salute. After I go over the books to figure out Angelo's share of the tipout and hand him a hefty chunk of cash on top of that as thanks, I kick back in my chair with my feet up on my desk.

A knock on my office door drags me awake. "Hey, Bobby?" _  
_

I scrub at my face, trying to clear the fog out of my head. "Yeah?"

"You got a delivery."

"On a Sunday?"

"Not that kind of delivery."

The fuck? "Come in."

Slowly the door creaks open, just wide enough for Eliot's hand holding a pot of gorgeous orchids to pop through. "Are you decent?"

"Shut up."

Grinning like a maniac, he sets the orchids on a corner of my desk. "Anything I should know about?"

"Nope."

"Aren't you going to read the card?"

I summon just enough energy to shoot him the death glare. Eliot holds up his hands in mock surrender and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Turning the pot around, I find a pale blue card clipped into a plastic holder stuck into the soil and visible between the blossoms, which are white with deep purple throats that almost look like they're bleeding into watercolor brushmarks along the lower petals. _Thank you for a lovely evening_ says the neat, slightly spiky handwriting at the top half of the card. Just below it, I recognize Cosima's rounded scrawl: _Next time, you bring the lube_.

I'm still laughing as I reach for my phone.

* * *

 _I really, **really** hadn't intended to take so long to post an update, but... stuff happened. Hope it was worth the wait. _

_Since I started writing Cophine fic in the summer of 2015, I've posted more or less a chapter a week for well over a year and a half (which, considering that my previous output was more on the order of a chapter a **month** , is just nuts). So I'm a bit fried. Not stopping, by any means, just slowing down a little. Thanks to everyone who's sent a kind word - you're the best!_

* * *

 _6/30/17 In response to today's Anonymous review: Thanks for the thought, but I write primarily to amuse myself. If anyone else is amused, so much the better; however, I don't really take prompts and I certainly don't write to order. In a freeform collection like this, there's bound to be *some*thing that'll offend or put off *some*one, so the most I will say on the subject is, Don't like, don't read. ;)_

* * *

 _7/12/17 Thank you, Anon. (I wouldn't normally post author's notes like this but this antiquated system has no provision for responding to guest reviews.) I did allude to Cophine's first time anal in "Where My Hand is Set," but I'm not sure I'll actually elaborate on it since I wrote a similar scene years ago for another story/fandom. As for the g!p... much as I enjoy futanari porn, I don't think I'd write it particularly well with these two.  
_


	22. EverythingSheDoesSeemstoComeOutRight

Everything She Does Seems to Come Out Right

"Babe!"

Her toothbrush stops buzzing. I hear her spit. "Yes, Cosima?"

"Why are there rubber bands on my nightstand?" Five packets of them, in fact, ranging in size from clearish ones maybe a little over a centimeter in diameter to the jumbo kind that are almost as wide and thick as bungee cords.

More spitting. Water splashes. "I bought them at the office supply store on the way home." She appears in the bathroom door and leans against the frame, still holding her toothbrush. My heart does a flip-flop. Even with her face washed completely bare of every trace of makeup, with her hair scraped back into a messy bun and her mouth full of white foam, Delphine Cormier is still the most ridiculously gorgeous woman I've ever known.

The fact that she is completely naked doesn't exactly hurt her case.

I manage to yoink my eyes back up to meet hers. She's got that expression on her face that I fucking love, like she's totally exasperated and yet on the verge of breaking out in giggles. "Okay. But, like, why did you put them there?"

"Because, chérie, I believe that you have something to prove."

"Um. What, that I can sort my socks so they don't get separated in the wash? Collate all of our condoms by brand, color, size and application? Improve my hand-eye coordination by shooting at your butt from across the room?"

"I was thinking of a somewhat less utilitarian application. And if you shoot me on the butt I will tickle you until you pass out."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, no need to escalate to DEFCON1. Oh, I know. I could use them to make you one of those squeezy stress balls. You could keep it on your desk at work and squish it during really boring meetings and presentations. Actually, I should probably make you a bunch of them so you can throw a handful at Rachel and we could find out if her hair actually moves. Felix has a theory that it's molded to her skull like a — "

"Do you remember what you said last night?" Her mouth gathers into a sideways smile that is the textbook illustration of the word _smug_.

My mind tries to hit replay and runs smack into a cloud of Platinum OG. The budtender at the dispensary hadn't been kidding when he'd said it was some heavy, heavy shit. "Kinda not really? I was stoned out of my head."

"Yes, I know. It made you very talkative. Among a great many other things, you went into a highly involved discourse about how wild it was that you had forgotten how to breathe."

"And you weren't concerned? I mean, considering my impaired respiratory function and metastatic lung tumors and all?"

"You kept it up for nearly ten minutes, so no, I wasn't. And then somehow you segued into a monologue about how the world would be so much better off if only people would poop in the woods like bears. This was all going on while you were lying between my legs _not_ eating me out, by the way."

Something trips vaguely in my memory. "Shit, Delphine, I'm sorry. Why didn't you tell me? I would totally have made it up to you this morning."

"I was in meetings from 8:00 on and you and Scott were busy working with Marcus for most of the day to categorize your TPMT phenotypes. There wasn't exactly a good time to bring it up."

"My bad. Like, mea maxima culpa, dude." My eyes keep wanting to wander down her body. "Still not getting what this has to do with office supplies."

"After the pooping in the woods speech, you said, and this is an exact quote," she points her toothbrush at me for emphasis, "'Babe, I could get you off with a rubber band.' And then you complained that your eyelids were too heavy for your face, wrapped yourself around my thigh and went straight to sleep. Snoring."

I frown, trying not to pout. "I do _not_ snore."

"Yes, you do, especially when you're heavily medicated, and it's very cute. But that's not the point. The point is that after I finally got you untangled and settled on your side of the bed, I had to, euh, take matters into my own hands before I could fall asleep."

It takes a good few seconds to make my brain let go of the image of her wanking off next to me. Mentally I give myself a shake. "So the rubber band thing is, like, your idea of payback for my leaving you, um, high and dry?"

"Not exactly dry," she says wryly with a flicker of her eyebrow. "And I assure you that I was _very_ good to myself. But I've been thinking all day about what you said, and my curiosity is piqued about just how you would manage it. As I said, chérie," Delphine hitches herself off the doorframe, stalks over to me and wraps me in her arms, "you have something to prove." She kisses me deeply, deliberately smearing toothpaste all over my mouth.

"Uchhh! You bish!" Swiping my hand across my face, I break away laughing and run down the hall to my bathroom.

"I love you too, Cosima," she calls after me.

My head is full of squirrels as I go through my nightly routine. What the hell had my blazed-up self been thinking? More importantly, how the fuck am I going to make this work? 'Cause no way in hell am I going to back down from a challenge like that.

There's a little Super Lemon OG left over from the other day; it's a tad dry from sitting around in the chamber of the grinder but it'll do. I roll a tiny pinner and drag it down in a single pull. Sweet, lemony, earthy goodness. Ideas and images coalesce in my head like the smoke swirling in my lungs while I think about the possibilities. Already starting to feel relaxed and happy, I blow out a long thick white stream and drop the roach into my collection jar.

When I return to the bedroom, Delphine's lying on her back with the covers turned down all the way. She gives me a look and I know she's arranged herself on purpose, putting herself on display for me. Right on cue she stretches and arches like a cat. A big lazy criminally hot naked French cat. My heart catches in my throat. Her pale, perfect skin glows in the warm light from my lamp, which carves shadows along her ribcage and in the hollows of her hipbones. Her breasts rise and fall slowly; while I watch, riveted, she slides her hands down to knead them and play with her nipples, which are already like pencil erasers.

"Out fucking standing," I say, just loud enough for her to hear. She smiles at me and reaches behind her to loosely grab a couple of the wrought iron bars of the headboard.

Not that I don't love it when she takes charge, because holy shit does she run a damn fine fuck. But if she wants to play pillow princess tonight, I'm good with that, too.

I drop my glasses on the nightstand and climb into bed, scooching over to lie on my side next to her. Squinting, I take my time admiring every detail up close.

"What?" she says with a slow-burning smile, not the least bit self-conscious about my staring. I fucking love that about her.

I reach to caress her cheek, letting my hand slide around to cup the nape of her neck and knead the corded muscles there. "Hey, lady."

She groans as my fingers work out little knots. "Hey, yourself."

Nuzzling at her throat, I kiss my way up her neck and capture her mouth with mine. Slowly and softly, our tongues dance together. "You're so goddamned beautiful," I murmur against her lips.

"And you're stalling. Va, au travail!"

"Tch. Do you have to be so linear, Dr. Cormier?" God, I like that, though. I've never known anyone who can go from zero to dripping faster than my girl. I reach for her face. The skin at her temple is so satiny, my fingers almost skate over it. I brush them over her cheek, along her jaw, around the little beauty mark below the corner of her mouth, down the side of her neck. Brief detour to feather a touch along the rim of her ear, making her shiver. Leaning in, I kiss each eyelid, laughing as her lashes tickle my lips. "So what do I win?"

"What?"

I'm inordinately pleased to see that she's already breathing harder. "What do I win if — _when_ I get you off with my rubber bands?"

Focusing again, she gives me a withering glare. "You get the satisfaction of keeping your word on a promise?"

I wind my fingers in her hair, playing with it and scritching her scalp. "Not exactly rewarding in itself since I don't even recall making it. For all I know you could be yanking my chain in the name of moral suasion."

"Getting me off isn't reward enough?" Her eyes drift closed and the corners of her mouth are twitching. She can pretend outrage all she wants, I can almost hear her purring. Especially when I reach that spot near the back of her head.

"For you, it will be."

Delphine manages to shrug while still holding onto the headboard. Anybody else in that position would look like a bear scratching an itch against a fencepost; she makes it seem quintessentially Gallic. "Fine. What do you suggest?"

Bending to press my lips to the hollow of her throat, I leave tiny kisses like a trail of breadcrumbs up the side of her neck to nibble at the soft spot below her ear. She leans her head back with a little kitteny sound. I grin inwardly. "You're gonna get baked with me this weekend. Not just shotgunning like you usually do, I mean you've got to get completely shitfaced."

I can't see her eyes but I'm pretty sure they're rolling. In French.

"Is that your answer for everything?"

"Pretty much. Except for the SATs. They needed a bit more reading comprehension than I would have been capable of if I'd been high."

She starts giggling and I know I've got her. Kissing her with a smile, I nuzzle my way down. Sometimes I wish I could draw or sculpt, because that curve where her jaw meets her neck is a fucking work of art. I inhale, breathing in the warm scent of clean skin, the traces of her shower gel, the smell of arousal — hers, mine, ours.

My mouth makes the descent from her throat to her breasts. They're small but so responsive, especially when I just barely brush my lips along both sides and the under-curves. The contrast between the smoothness of the skin there and the firm pebbliness of her areoles and nipples just begs to be explored. It's not long before she's making little high-pitched breathy sounds in time with the rise and fall of her chest.

Drawing one nipple into my mouth, I swirl my tongue around it, then suck hard until she moans. Scraping the nipple with the barest edges of my teeth, I drink in the sound of total abandon that starts out, like, somewhere below her belly button.

I move to pay homage to her other breast while stretching out an arm for the rubber bands, dropping them within reach. Tearing open the packet of the smallest ones, I pick out a couple. I try looping one around a nipple but it's a little too loose and kind of just dangles there. So I give it a twist and make another loop so that it pinches and tugs, but only a little. I watch carefully but the nipple stays pink. Warm, too, when I press my lips to it, which makes her whimper. Grinning, I snare her other nipple in its own rubber band. With the edges of my teeth, I nibble at each of them in turn until they're bright red and she's arching toward my mouth with every slightest touch.

 _Ohhhhh, I am **so** going to have fun with this, Dr. Cormier._

Making sure to visit every single freckle, I kiss my way down her belly. The tension building in her body is almost audible. Her hands are white-knuckled around the wrought iron bars, showing off the definition in all the muscles of her chest and arms. I'm trying not to cackle because I know damned well it's taking every bit of her self restraint to not simply shove my face into her crotch.

Gently I urge her legs apart. Not that she needs a lot of prompting. She spreads herself wide, giving me an awesome view. "Fuck, babe, you're so wet."

She grunts — a "no shit, Sherlock" sound — and not so subtly rocks her hips toward me. I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her and swallowing hard with anticipation. Kissing my way slowly up one thigh, I slide a single finger along her wetness, humming low in my throat at the sensation as I run it softly over her folds, dipping into her cunt and teasing in the flood of her arousal. Her entire body shudders when I butterfly my thumb around her already distended clit. "Oops, did I do that?"

I can hear her gritting her teeth. Heh.

Opening the packet of the largest rubber bands, I start to wind one around two fingers. It won't stay in place unless it's pretty tight, though, and I quickly realize that my fingers are going purple and getting numb. Suddenly I get an idea. Stripping off the rubber band, I scoot backward from between her legs and roll out of bed.

Delphine pops her head up like an indignant gopher. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Right back, babe," I say over my shoulder, heading toward my dresser and the tray I use to dump all the stuff I collect in my pockets throughout the day — the one she got me after I'd sent one too many pens through the wash. A few seconds of nearsighted rooting produces a few quarters, which are just about the right size.

I sit on the edge of the bed, making sure she can see what I'm doing. Wrapping two of the quarters in place along the undersides of my index and middle fingers with a few twists, then two more quarters on the backs of my fingers gives them plenty of support against cutting off circulation as I keep looping and twisting until a final stretch snaps the rubber band into place. Adding a few more rubber bands, deliberately creating irregular ridges and valleys, I wind the last one around just the tips of my fingers to make a thick, lumpy "head." "What do you think?" I wave my improvised cock at her, making it dance until she laughs. "Ribbed for her pleasure."

"Very creative. Now, are you actually going to do something with that or just talk all night again?"

"So you don't want me for my witty repartee?"

"I want your tongue for its other, much more practical and beneficial skills."

"Fine." I sigh dramatically. "I knew you were only using me for sex." I find a condom in the nightstand drawer and roll it on over my rubber band cock. Kind of weird looking, but I have a pretty good idea what I'm going to do now. Settling between her legs again, I spread apart her folds with the flats of my hands and breathe her in.

"Cosima! What are you wait— "

Her voice cuts off with a strangled sob when I place the softest possible kiss directly onto her clit. Not licking or sucking, just worrying at it with the insides of my lips and feeling it thrum and swell. This teasing taste of her is enough to make my mouth water. Fuck. I want to bury myself in her, surround myself in her heat and wetness, feed on her until she shakes and screams and begs me to never stop.

Reaching up, I pinch a nipple through its rubber band. Her outraged yip ends in a reluctantly voluptuous moan as my tongue starts to work her clit, circling, painting her wetness up and down each side. Her thighs slap together around my ears, so I brace with my elbows to keep my head from getting mashed as I tug at her lips and dart my tongue into the shocking heat of her cunt. I wallow in her, letting her arousal soak my cheeks, my chin, the ends of my dreads. Slowly at first, then more insistently, her hips start to hunch as my mouth matches the rhythm of her cat-in-heat writhing.

Moving downward, I press the flat of my tongue to her asshole, moving it in tiny pulses and wriggling it up and down and back and forth. Her breathing hiccups. I feel the tightening of the muscles in her buttocks and legs. The tremors jittering through her body seem to emanate from her spine. Hands fist painfully into my dreads. The thick pour from her cunt coats the lower half of my face and drips into the sheets. By now she's moaning constantly, hips rolling and jerking with every flick of my tongue.

It's tempting to stay right there and keep teasing her ass — almost nothing gets her hotter or makes her come harder than getting rimmed and tongue-fucked — but I have other plans tonight. I drag my tongue back up through her folds, greedily gathering up as much of her come as I can, then lick up and down each side of her straining clit. Without warning I suck hard, lashing my tongue across it from side to side; as I'd intended, she comes quickly and powerfully in short, shocked bursts. Instead of drawing out her orgasm, though, I move my mouth away. Instantly she protests with a forward thrust of her hips.

"Please, chérie. I need you. Inside."

Simple words, stripped of everything but raw, bald-faced hunger. I am so fucking whipped.

Fumbling in the nightstand drawer for a bottle of lube and gobbing it all over my rubber band cock, I press the thick head not into her cunt where she's expecting me but instead against the tight entrance to her ass. It's still pink and twitching from my earlier attentions but I give her plenty of time, not moving, just keeping consistent pressure while she deliberately deepens her breathing and pushes out steadily against me. I watch in awe as she slowly, slowly opens; she has an almost yogic control over relaxing the muscles there that I have yet to be able to emulate. The throbbing of her clit against my lips feels stronger than my own heartbeat as I resume cradling it with kisses and the circling caress of my tongue, letting the motion of her hips open herself further. We both feel the judder that jolts through her body when the head of my cock pops through her ring; she cries out softly with pleasure as her ass clings to me, pulsing helplessly.

Sweat runs down her sides, its sharp tang mixing with the raw scent of her come. Concentrating on working her clit and pumping my fingers through the rhythmic grip of her ass in sync with the undulating movements of her body, I can hear her cunt clasping wetly at nothing. Her ass clamps down on me with every little movement; by now she's fully warmed up and at her most sensitive and I know she's exquisitely aware of every bump and dip in my cock's surface. There's a steady current of hunger threading through her body and the raggedness of her breathing lets me know how desperate she is for more.

My cunt is pouring and my hips want to grind into the bed. I keep them still, though, because there's a kind of violent joy in seeing and feeling and hearing her come without being blindsided by my own pleasure. Instead I focus on fucking her with short strokes that push and tug at the tight ring of her ass. She's crushing my fingers now, limiting their motion, and I am drowning in the unbelievably rich smell and taste of her. Bearing down harder, I push through the clenching of her ass and worship her clit until her head snaps back with her lips parted in a half snarl and the cords of her neck cable-taut. Her breath hisses through bared teeth. For a glorious moment the unbearable tension arches her body into a backward bow, tenting every muscle. And then she howls.

Even though my wrist is burning and the convulsions of her ass are squeezing my fingers bloodless, I am determined to keep fucking her through her come. I know I'm being too rough, I know my mouth is too possessive, but I can't stop, not while Delphine's still writhing and bucking and contorting out of control.

Christ. Finally her movements slacken. Her body is spent, totally liquid except for the powerful clenching of her ass around my pulverized fingers.

Pressing one last kiss to her rigid, scarlet clit, I rest my head on her leg; the muscles tremble under my ear. Stroking the curve of her butt cheek with my free hand, I brush tiny kisses into the incredibly soft fold where her hip meets her thigh, tasting salt and sex. "You okay?"

"You have to ask?" she laughs, her voice still unsteady. A hand tugs weakly at my dreads. "Too far away," she mumbles.

I grin to myself. "Hang on." Carefully I sit up, resting on my knees, and help her roll onto her side. Moving as slowly as I can, I pull out of her ass. Her inner muscles contract with every bump and ridge along the way; by the time her ring reluctantly lets go of my weirdly lumpy cockhead, she's squirming again. Stripping off the condom and the rubber bands, I toss the whole mess in the general vicinity of the wastebasket. The quarters bounce around on the rug while I wiggle my fingers to get some blood flow back into them. "Damn, babe." I show her the circular marks imprinted into my skin; you can just about make out Queen Elizabeth's face in one of them. "I bet you could pick up bowling balls with that thing."

"Let's not try that tonight, hmm? Come here, dammit."

Smiling, I scoot up to spoon her from behind. "Better?"

"Yes. No. I can't kiss you like this." She flops over onto her back, shifting me so that I wind up draped atop her. Her mouth welcomes mine. Shaking arms and legs wrap around me, holding me close. Perfectly happy being her prisoner, I murmur quiet nonsense against her lips as minutes elongate languidly, twist and turn back on themselves until the pounding of her heart gradually calms down.

Her nipples are dark red. Fuck, I'd almost forgotten about them. "Um. Babe. Shit. I'm sorry, but this might hurt a little."

"What might — oh!" I roll one rubber band off and immediately latch on, soothing the rush of returning circulation with my tongue. I repeat the actions with her other nipple, sucking just a little harder until she cries out. Not in pain, though; I can hear the surprised pleasure in her voice and the rasp of her breath as she practically launches herself toward my mouth. _Whoa, okay!_ Going back and forth between her breasts and trying not to get flung off the bed, I almost don't notice when she grabs my wrist and slides my hand down her belly. She guides it straight to her clit. Immediately I trap it in the vee of two fingers, fucking it roughly until she comes yet again.

"So, Dr. Cormier." I nibble my way up the side of her neck, thoroughly enjoying her jellylike state of exhaustion. "What do you think of my rubber bands now?"

Still quivering and panting, she tilts her head back to give me better access to her throat. A laugh vibrates against my lips. "I can feel my pulse in my nipples. I think you must be a little bit evil, chérie."

"Maaaaaybe." Sinking my teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, I bite down just hard enough to bring pinpoints of blood to the surface. She moans softly when I lap at the tiny marks with the tip of my tongue. "But," I bend to claim her mouth, nibbling her lip gently, "I seem to be your kind of evil."

* * *

 _SonnetCXVI, this is ALL YOUR FAULT. ;)_


	23. I Hear Your Name in Certain Circles pt 1

I Hear Your Name in Certain Circles: Part 1

A light touch at my elbow startles me upright.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you, Dr. Cormier," murmurs the hotel clerk, who politely ignores my slow, muzzy response and what I strongly suspect is a trail of drool at the corner of my mouth. "But there's a Dyad courier at the front desk with a rather urgent message."

"What is it?"

"She said it was confidential and that she was authorized to deliver it only to you and only in person."

"All right. Thank you."

The clerk nods and leaves. I briefly debate with myself about returning but the heaviness in my limbs and the fog in my brain decide me: I desperately need a nap. Making a mental apology to the lecturer, whose work I have followed for years, I gather my things as unobtrusively as possible and slip out the side door of the meeting room.

My head clears a little as I make my way downstairs and through the long corridor toward the hotel's dramatic wood-paneled, high-ceilinged lobby. As usual, there is a small crowd taking pictures in front of the ornate antique brass mailbox near the bank of elevators. Reaching the front desk but seeing no sign of the courier, I wait my turn in line.

"Oh, Dr. Cormier. Paging Dr. Cormier," says a throaty voice behind me.

I'm already smiling as I turn around. "Cosima!" She beams, looking extremely pleased with herself. "What are you doing here?"

"Delivering a very personal message. In person." Draping her arms around my neck, she kisses me deeply. "Besides, I missed you."

Hugging her by the waist, I pull her close and rest my forehead against hers. I am vaguely aware that we are attracting an audience but I don't care. The scent of her, the warmth and the feeling of her body leaning into mine, the wiry strength of her slender limbs are much too sweet to bother worrying about what anyone else thinks. "I missed you, too, chérie. But I've been gone for only two days."

"Two very long days," she murmurs against my lips. "Two _very_ long, _very hard_ days."

For emphasis she presses the considerable distension at her crotch against my leg. I suck in a rough breath. Reflexively my thighs rub together. "I hope you didn't wear that on the flight."

"Nah, the skirt I've got on wouldn't cover it if I were sitting down. Besides, imagine the field day the CATSA agents would have had if they'd seen this bad boy lighting up the scanner. Probably be a shitty career move to get arrested for attempting to smuggle a _weapon of ass destruction_."

All her teeth are bared as she laughs at her terrible joke. I swat her on her rear end, leaving my hand in place to caress the firm curve through the thick wool of her red coat.

She nibbles at my lower lip, tugging playfully. "I, um, got dressed in a coat check closet down the hall that the desk clerk told me about." Dropping her voice into its lowest register, she burrs into my ear. "That closet's for overflow, so this time of year it's barely used. Nice and quiet. Lots of handy bars to grab onto. Wanna go add to our list?"

The list — called, at her insistence, **Places We Have Done It** — is rigorously maintained on a spreadsheet app on her phone. For a moment I indulge myself in the fantasy, imagining the faint sounds from the corridor just outside the reach of our hearing as we give in to the frantic desire that dictates the rhythm of our coupling whenever we have been apart for even a brief while. The ramifications of being discovered (... _pinned to the wall held up only by the bulky spear of Cosima's cock buried in my cunt..._ ) by hotel staff or one of my colleagues are not exactly something I want to contemplate, though.

Suppressing a shudder at the promise implicit in her voice, body and touch, I nip at her tongue, which she flickers out of the way. "Why would we want to fumble around in a dusty, airless closet and risk getting caught when there is a perfectly good, very spacious and much more private suite upstairs?"

"Because getting almost-caught is hot. And it's fun. Bet it's way more fun than," she peruses the printout of the notes from the lecture I'd just left, reading upside down, "'Exosomes and Communications Between Tumors and the Immune System.' Jeez, who says immunologists don't know how to party?"

"It's a fascinating topic, for your information. And the speaker is the leading researcher in the field."

"Yeah, so fascinating that you brought out all your stuff with you. Admit it, you were gonna bail, anyway."

I can never resist that naughty gleam in her eyes, or the lopsided grin that tugs at one corner of her mouth. Shrugging, I tilt my head in reluctant assent.

"Uh huh. 's what I thought." Cosima kisses me softly. "Come on, Dr. Cormier. Drag me off to your secret lair and have your evil way with me."

Laughing, I take her hand and twine our fingers together. "Where is your luggage?"

She pats her oversized ancient jute canvas tote bag; the fabric at its strap is somewhat frayed, giving it the appearance of some long limbed arboreal creature clinging to her shoulder. "You're looking at it. This was kind of a last-minute thing. Besides," she smirks, "I wasn't planning on needing a lot of clothing for the weekend."

Making sure she can see me rolling my eyes, I lead her to the elevator that whisks us silently and smoothly upwards.

"The Suite Van Horne?" she says, raising her eyebrows at the wall plaque next to the door.

"It wasn't my idea." I swipe my keycard, then hold open the door for her. "Apparently this is where Dyad always puts its director at this hotel. Even an interim one."

"Dude, take it when you can get it." After tossing her coat over a chair in the long entryway, she wanders through the suite. On entering each room, she opens and flings wide the connecting French doors, which makes the stuffily formal space feel immediately more comfortable. In the dining room, she inspects the chandelier and the rather forbidding portrait of William Cornelius Van Horne over the fireplace and whistles. "Nothing exceeds like excess, eh?"

In the living area I wrap my arms around her from behind and brush aside her dreads so I can nuzzle the tender fragrant skin of her neck; together we admire the nearly 180° view of the Fleuve St.-Laurent through the windows in the curved wall. "It's a little ridiculous, isn't it? I haven't spent enough time in it to appreciate it properly. Now that you're here, though..."

Turning in the circle of my embrace, Cosima slowly grinds the heavy bulk of her cock against my crotch. "As you can tell," she murmurs into my ear, "I'm _very_ happy to see you." She tugs the tails of my shirt free so that her hands can stroke up and down the curve of my lower back. Her mouth finds mine once again.

Eagerly I welcome her, lazily tangling our tongues, drinking in the familiar tastes and scents. My hips rock in time with the movement of hers, seemingly of their own volition. "I'm always happy to see you, but I'm especially happy after two days of having to make small talk with every pharma rep, biomedical engineer and overeager job seeker within a kilometer radius."

"Bummer. I do _not_ miss that shit about grad school. Pretty sure I flunked out of Schmoozing 101."

"You? I would have thought you'd have been the networking champion."

Soft kisses trail over my cheek, the warmth of her breath making the tiny hairs there stand on end. "I was the queen, chairperson and CEO of unstructured hanging out. But corporate sponsored events that force you to pretend to be a grownup and socialize with potential employers or contacts who can 'further your career opportunities'? Nuh unh."

"I suppose you skipped the events, smoked a joint in the back of an empty conference room and made out with the hottest girl or boy present."

I have missed the deep husky burble of her laughter, the starburst crinkling of tiny lines beside her eyes and nose. Somehow Skype never quite manages to capture the nuances of what makes her so unique, so alive. Undulating against her touch, I slide my hands beneath the hem of her sweater and let them settle at their favorite spots at her waist. "That would not be an inaccurate supposition." A little kitteny sound of contentment coos into my ear as I play my thumbs over soft skin.

I kiss the tip of her nose, making her eyes cross briefly. "I _am_ glad that you're here. It's been quite a while since I've had to sit through eight hours of lecture and I'm exhausted."

"Poor baby." Clever lips nibble their way along my jaw to nuzzle at the shivery spot below my ear.

"At least today I managed to escape to Bistro Le Sam for lunch. We should go have drinks on the terrace at sunset — there's a gorgeous stained glass conservatory that overlooks the river." A hand sneaks around under my shirt and rubs slow kneading circles over my belly. The deep muscles contract at her touch, roiling pleasantly. My heart beats faster, an electric current of arousal humming through my body as the hand slips lower. "Perhaps later," I croak.

Letting my fingers drift over the graceful curve of the small of her back, I slip them beneath the waistband of her skirt and tease the top of her cleft. I smile at the catlike arching of her hips as my fingers delve, circling and pressing at the very base of her spine.

"Way later." A smirk curls the corner of her mouth. She escapes the reach of my fingers and deftly unfastens my trousers, pushing them down past my hips until they slump to the floor. I manage to slip out of my shoes and socks, then kick aside the fabric puddled around my ankles. "Thought you were tired," she teases.

In answer I grasp the hem of her sleeveless sweater and tug upwards. Obligingly she lifts her arms so I can slide the knit fabric up and off, then trail the very tips of my fingers back down, tracing well defined muscle beneath velvet skin. My breath catches at the sight of the proud line of her shoulders, the slender taper of her waist. I reach around behind her to undo the fastening of her black floral-printed bra and slip it off. With a happy internal sigh I cup the soft warm weight of her breasts in my hands, teasing her hardening nipples with tiny circles of my thumbs and just barely stroking the sensitive under-curves and sides.

I kiss a meandering line down her neck and over the tops of her breasts. While I nibble at the bounding pulse at the hollow of her throat, I undo the button and zip fastening her elegantly short skirt... and discover that she is wearing nothing beneath it other than her impressive appendage. "Oh, my, chérie." Grasping the thick heavy length of her cock, I rhythmically squeeze the shaft and grind the base against her clit, making her shudder and groan.

Cosima pulls me closer, her thigh pressing none too gently between my legs. Willingly I part for her, exhaling on a sigh as firm muscle flexes against the weeping pour of my sex. "Turn around."

The furrowing of my brows no doubt conveys my confusion, but the gentle tug of her hands on my arms reassures me. "Can't wait," she confesses roughly, spinning me swiftly so that her hips curve against my ass, the thick bulk of her cock nudging between my thighs. "Up against the window. Want to be inside you." Pausing for my "Ohfuckyes" assent, she lets me brace my hands on the narrow windowsill as I widen my stance and drop my belly. "Nice cow position, babe," she snickers, gathering my wetness with the head of her cock and playing it over my thrumming clit until I am almost humping it, seeking more friction, more contact, more _anything_.

Just when it seems as though she is going to be content to tease me to madness, she unerringly finds the waiting desire of my cunt and presses her cock home.

The delicious invasion seems to push the breath out of my lungs, inexorably parting my swelling, weeping walls until at last I am impaled to the hilt. Skin burns against skin. I arch back into her, panting raggedly, pressing against her questing hips, offering myself to the greedy exploration of her hands. Her arms wrap around me, one about my waist, the other banding across my chest so that her fingers can torment my breasts.

We move easily together, almost languidly at first, but hunger never remains far from our touch and neither of us is in any sort of mood for gentleness or patience. Still wearing her chunky heeled boots, she is at the perfect height to drive the thick length of her cock into me, filling me utterly and lingering to pulse hard against the front wall of my cunt with the deepest part of each stroke. With her fingers she captures my achingly swollen clit, letting the motion of my hips dictate the pressure against it. Wet heat bathes the pistoning of her cock and the purposeful immobility of her fingers, dripping down my legs. The room echoes with the high pitched keening of my cries, the rhythmic slap of her hips against my buttocks and thighs.

The quaking spasms begin deep inside me. Frantically grinding against her fingers, I suck in the last of the oxygen in the room as my clit bursts and my cunt clenches around her. I feel the increasing urgency in her hips, hear the rasping of her breath, even as I keep coming helplessly, bucking and twisting into her thrusts. Sweat runnels off our flanks, mingling with the heaver slide of come. With a choking gasp she shudders and jerks, again and again, her arms tightening around me until at last her body sags atop mine, her mouth scattering random kisses over my back.

Her head rests heavy on my shoulder. Careful with the hypersensitive throb of my clit, she cups her hand protectively over my mound. I am grateful for the support of her other arm because I'm not sure how much longer my legs can hold me up. "I knew there was a reason I loved you," I manage to mumble.

Warm breath puffs across my skin; she shakes with laughter. I whimper as she pulls out, imagining the heavy length of her cock slicked with my come and rubbing against her thigh.

Turning me around so I can lean braced against the windowsill, Cosima kneels on the carpet in front of me and encourages my trembling legs to spread wider apart. Peeling the turgid lips of my still palpitating sex open with her thumbs, she gives me a wickedly gleeful smile. "Let's see if I can remind you of a few more."

* * *

 _To be continued..._


	24. I Hear Your Name in Certain Circles pt 2

**I Hear Your Name in Certain Circles: Part 2**

Every time I move, there's a breeze that reminds me how wet I am.

I check my reflection one more time to make sure that nothing shows, especially in profile. Gotta admit that going full-body commando while packing feels kind of weird. Hella hot, though. And the look on Delphine's face when she realizes I'm leaving wearing my coat over nothing but my harness and tackle is fucking priceless.

"Cosima, why are you going out like... that?"

I love how she gets that little divot between her eyebrows. "To get some, um, supplies. I'll be right back."

She sits up in bed, leaning propped up on her elbows. Boobs front and center, framed by the edge of the sheet. Nice. "Room service exists for a reason, you know, chérie."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure they're not gonna have what I want."

"There are three restaurants, a wine and cheese bar and a Starbucks in the hotel alone. Anything they don't have, we could ask the concierge to have delivered. There's no need for you to leave."

"Babe, I'm going to the post office to pick up the order of weed I sent myself from Phatnug. Then I need to hit a head shop. Happy?"

Delphine flops backward into her pillow. She winds her hands into her hair and busts out laughing, making her breasts dance. "Get some ketchup chips and Coffee Crisps."

Probably a good thing she can't see what I'm saluting her with. I can still hear her giggling when I head out the door.

The cab driver speaks English about as well as I speak French, so we're both relieved when I show him the address on my phone. Traffic's pretty bad but it's a really short trip to the nearest Canada Post — the hotel is actually still in sight, looming like Québécois Hogwarts. I feel a little silly not walking but it's still pretty cold out and the last thing I want is to irritate the fuck out of my stupid lungs and spend the weekend coughing up blood. Especially since that would mean Delphine going into Doctor Mode. Maybe not the end of sexy times, but not exactly romantic, you know?

Somehow I manage to dig "Attendez, s'il vous plaît" out of the belly button lint of my memory. He nods in that exaggerated way you do when you're trying to communicate mostly through gestures and leaves the engine running while I duck inside. It's not busy, so in just a few minutes I'm back out in the cab with my generic, unmarked Xpresspost envelope. I give the package a sniff on the QT but I can't smell a thing. This is the first time I've ordered from these guys; obvs they know their shit.

After a quick search, I show the driver my phone again. He drives me to a tobacconist's called J. E. Giguère right around the corner. I grab a packet of Elements Artesano papers, an aluminum grinder and a cheap plasma lighter. The guy behind the counter looks pointedly at the package in my hand, then practically glares at me while he's ringing up my shit. It takes a lot of effort not to roll my eyes and tell him, _Relax, dude, I know the etiquette._ On the way back to the hotel, I have the driver stop one more time at a little grocery on Rue des Jardins so I can load up on drinks and snacks.

I pay the driver and give him a fat tip. He points at the padded envelope, mimes holding a joint to his lips and gives me a wink, then takes off.

Back in the suite, I dump my coat and bags, then shuck my shoes in the entryway. Patricia Barber plays over the sound system. I check my reflection in the big mirror, dancing to the music. Dreads, rockin'. Tits, hella perky. Abs, thank you yoga. Ginormous purple hard-on, oh yeah, baby.

No hot French doctor in the bedroom or bathroom. "Babe?"

"In here, chérie," she calls from the depths of... somewhere. This place is freaky big. You could put my entire Minnesota apartment in a corner and lose it behind a curtain.

"Here, where?"

"Living room."

I go out the bedroom's other doorway and stop dead in my tracks.

 _Wet dream_ doesn't even begin to describe it.

She's sitting by a window in one of the dark brown velvet wing chairs with a towel folded under her ass. The chair's been repositioned to face the bedroom door, giving me a primo view as she glides her fingers in and around her pussy; she's so wet I can hear the little lapping sounds from here and so swollen she looks like a split ripe fruit. One leg is draped over the arm of the chair; her other leg is planted on the floor and splayed to the side. Sheer black stockings and a garter belt. Wicked spike heels so high, I wonder if she can actually walk in them. And nothing else.

Sometimes Delphine is the queen of subtle, conveying a world of meaning in the lift of her eyebrow or the tilt of her head or the tiniest twitch of her lips. This is not one of those times.

Thank fucking goodness.

"See anything you like?"

How does she manage to maintain that doe-eyed innocent expression while displaying herself for me like _that_? "See everything I adore."

And before I know it I am kneeling on the floor, eye to eye with the holiest of holies and inhaling until I'm dizzy. I want to taste and touch and bathe myself in her cunt, but I make myself wait, kissing my way along the inside of one thigh above the lacy edge of the stocking. The muscles tremble and bunch under her skin. Only the bracing of my elbows keeps her hips from bucking into my face when I just barely graze my mouth over the damp curls covering her mound.

"Cosima."

I smile up at her, making sure she can see me licking the trace of her come from my lips. "Yes, Delphine?"

"I need you. Now!"

Trailing my hand up her leg, I tease at her entrance, soaking my fingers as I outline the lips of her sex and trace each fold. She makes an impatient sound. Her hips jerk upward but I anticipate the motion and pull my fingers away, making her grunt with frustration. I haul myself to my feet, bracing a knee between her legs on the edge of the seat so I don't have to hold up all my weight with my arms. I paint her wetness all over her lips and kiss her deeply, then smile as she sucks my fingers into her mouth. "Your period's about to start, isn't it?"

She lets go of my fingers with a slurp. "What?"

"I mean, it's like clockwork. Not like mine." Ever since I was a kid, my period has always been irregular. Sometimes it's just a few days of spotting; sometimes I'm birthing blood clots. Sometimes I go months between periods, which always used to make things a little anxious back when I dated or fucked dudes. Add in the uterine tumors and it's just all kinds of unpredictable fun. "But I don't need to look at a calendar to know when you're about to... clock."

Those huge hazel eyes come back into focus and narrow at me. "Okay. So how can you tell?"

"Well, for one thing, I can taste it in your come. There's a kind of metallic edge that isn't there any other time. For another," I deliberately drag the ends of my dreads across her breasts, making her hiss, "your tits are like extra super sensitive right before."

Which gives me an idea.

"Why are you smiling like that?"

"Like what, babe?" I kiss my way along her jawline; she leans her head back so I can kiss every part of her neck.

"Your Grinch smile. You're up to something."

"Maaaaaaaybe." Nibbling just below her ear, I let my fingertips brush the sides and under-curves of her breasts.

"Nnngghh. Are you going to tell me what it is?"

Small circles and bigger circles, back and forth, tapping, flicking, varying the speed and pressure. "Nah. Let's just see what happens." I deliberately avoid her nipples, concentrating instead on the incredibly soft and smooth flesh surrounding them until she's squirming and moaning. Every tiny papilla stands out in her areolas and she jumps when I lick the edges of first one, then the other, feeling the pebbly surfaces contract under the tip of my tongue. Her head is flung back over the top of the seat and her hands are gripping the arms of the chair, like they're the only thing keeping her from lunging toward me. I butterfly a kiss to her chest, barely skimming, mostly letting just my breath caress her, watching her skin go all goose-pimply and flushed. The back of my brain supplies the lyrics to the song that's playing but mostly I'm trying to ignore the liquid heat between my legs and the insistent throbbing of my clit that's trapped beneath the base of my cock. It helps to concentrate on listening to Delphine panting and swearing, tasting the salt of her skin and getting drunk on the scent of her.

By now her nipples are like pencil erasers. Perfect. I take one into my mouth, grinning to myself when she nearly levitates out of the chair. Swirl my tongue around the hard little nub and suck. Release it with a wet pop, then capture the other one. Back and forth, lavishing attention on her nipples, licking and biting and sucking harder until the snuffly little whimpering sounds she's been making change to increasingly louder and higher pitched cries. Suddenly she arches outward like Kate Winslet in "Titanic" and all I can think is _Goddamn right I'm king of the world_.

I don't want her to get too sore so I lay off her nipples and go back to gently caressing her breasts while she shivers and pants. My legs are kind of shaky and my back is starting to stiffen. Guess she notices, because she manages to scoot over enough to let me snuggle into the chair next to her, half sitting across her lap. I lean my head against hers, sliding my arm behind her neck to support it; her arms snake around my waist.

"That was... that was..."

I crane my head to kiss her softly. "Good, I hope?"

"Oh, yes." Delphine smiles into our kiss, still trying to catch her breath. "Very. I didn't expect — I mean, I didn't know you could even..."

"Come just from having your tiddies sucked by your incredibly talented girlfriend?"

"Brat." One eye cracks open in a half-hearted glare, then squeezes shut again. "Yes. It's different, though, isn't it? Kind of... "

"Tingly and warm and melty inside while you're flying but floating in a bath that's the absolute perfect temperature?"

" ... Yeah."

No further elaboration. I feel incredibly smug. I mean, it's not every day you reduce one of the most brilliant, articulate women in the world to monosyllabic incoherent mumbling. Won't last, though, because if I know anything at all about Delphine Cormier, once she recovers and the gears start turning again in her mind, she's going to grill me on the physiological and philosophical and spiritual bases of boobgasms. And then, relentless first class scientist that she is, she's going to experiment until she figures out the best and most deliciously torturous ways to one-up me.

I can't fucking wait.

* * *

 _To be continued..._


End file.
